

SJ 

V ><» 





°o h- ‘ 

C> V "> .o* s 

* - r* & ^ * \ o- ^ 

t aV <* ^ '■■■• /W° «A * 

> v <$> t c 7 

*\V 'P. o - 

•V .J k 

* 


A A-, 


^V*. x 'f 

f . v * y. 

: P A x 

c»» * il 


^<> O 


0° 


a\ ^ v. 1 « ^ 


* fa. “ • ■; 

l ^ <* -^y/ltt 

+- U-^UJS 

% »•■’ 

xV 


V 


, 0 °X. U 


' A o' 



< 

>\ c, 

*/ T* 


✓• \\ '■ . v : ‘ ^ 

\ S f>0 y “ V >^ * r>-* i 

"A 0 . * * ,. ^ * 0 M 0 * ^ ^ ‘ „ 

0 V *' s JL r + C> v x ***0, > 8 ‘ o' 

^ v r .■$> 5) % - ,\^ 

.^ -■•*<■ ».|A - 

I Kpj* * 

P. o 





* 

✓ 


,\V ,/* ^ 7//7v\^ N V ® 

^ v, * y 

P * ' ; ** „ ^ mw' . 

O •/ 0 4 X ^ \0 ^ '', s A 

v sx * v 1 * 4 ^ ^ 0 N C- * * s a\ v * .ft a 

^ *£m>* 0 0 '*W^% 

■’bo' ;«^!a: ^ 

^ ® x <}5 ^ ^ 

* * , ^ 3 N 0 ^ ' *" ♦ g , A * X 

*' G> V <^ * * / > v O> , s 

* ^ ,v, ^ ,o» V ^ < 

SS 1 ^ y. ® ^ 0 

v?* c.$%* - WiM? * 0^ V 'V c;b <$, 

^ - >s ^ v #Vv V v- ' 

y ** s "^ x ^ xb ♦ / '" > v N 0^' c ° N c ' 

v ,\ /K^2, -» o C- 

A' M?rh ^ 





f: f o > c» K ^ * Au *“' vJ>' 

. i '“ ^ Aw'*' % A 

°o ;^:*r-^; v ' v- ; 

1 % - ■: "'■' ’j; \ 0o x. *, - . 

% *y^ ; s* n o c> '> ll I^.' 

<-., a *•"* ,/' V v 

<* & * - S 

<^.<P A a r> <*■ ww-'SXs . v^» V 

A c ^ -- ^ f '|t% ^ ,A X ^ 

. ;r f r 2 .\» n ^ f, r * > 


s ^WYOCsr* > X^* ^ 

v#i 

/ r ^ - iiife c .\\ ' < 

jr s ” ■ % K ^J- 4 a^’' ^ 

S V . ^ , V° * k 0-, V^-\,N X ,, I 



U r v S 0 ,: :1 ■ T;\, - V- 

\V ,/> / ^ W- ; W'^ Co c. 

AV f P- 0 - v V)J w 

V\ ^ A. J , A^V '#> 

' A X . , . A. '". ^ ^ .. 




F I 


sr * 


s 0 


'*.<? .s-V. ' ■* 



■»*■ - 1/ «rS» 



°o™ 

& % ts, ^ ^ ^ -\ . & * 

V ° ' 1 / ' ‘ !T • , % '“' >' >- v ^, % 


"o o' 1 ° «S* 





S^V 


•X V 

o <y 


* 



y> 

✓> 

n^~' ^ ^ v 1 ' ” «. V «6^ C 0 *'’ if „ 9 

v> »'*», ^ "' .j'* '* ^ v' , , ‘ , < 

* - '. *<#.. .«. -^JvV - 








































4 












t 











































/ 


















/ 




♦ 































* 








/ 



* 




Mr. and Mrs. Spoopendyke. 



STANLEY HUNTLEY, 

v* 1 

OF THE BROOKLYN EAGLE. 




Copyright, 1881 , 

By W. B. Smith & Co., New York. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


THE AUTHOR’S CONFESSION. 


I have been seduced by a condensed villain — a publisher over a 
bottle of Mumm. Oh ! that I had been — mum. The argument was 
that Mrs. Spoopendyke would never know it, because no married man 
would be ass enough to show my confessions to my wife. But my 
brain is clearer, and I realize that Mumm is not always spelled mum . I 
charge my readers that no one of them shall give me away, for Mrs. 
Spoopendyke is now in blissful ignorance of the fact that I have abused 
her. The land has countless Mrs. Spoopendykes, and if I am betrayed, 
like Samson of old, I will soon pull down the temple, and all of you, 
miserable Spoopendykes, shall perish with me under the crushing 
weight of awakened conjugal consciousness and scorn. 

SPOOPENDYKE. 


i 



CONTENTS 


Paoe 

I. The Fifteen Puzzle . 5 

II. "Preparing to enjoy Themselves 9 

III. Annabel Lee 13 

IV. A Pertinacious Landlord 14 

V. The Medicine Chest 1G 

VI. Could n’t feel at Home 20 

VII. Alone 22 

VIII. A Slight Indisposition 23 

IX. Les Incomprehensibles 26 

X. How they missed the Masquerade 30 

XL Hunting for a Market 34 

XII. A Simple Trick at Cards 37 

XIII. Hunting for a lleceipt 41 

XIV. Some Difficulty about a Dog 43 

XV. The First Sermon 4G 

XVI. Temporarily Mislaid 51 

XVII. Some Items about Snakes 54 

XVIII. A Friendly Game of Checkers 58 

XIX. In Search of the Aristocracy G2 

XX. The Difficulties of a Witness G5 

XXL The Lost Shirt Stud 70 

XXII. A Philosophical Explanation 72 

XXIII. In the Surf 75 


4 


CONTENTS. 


XXIV. Abe Wallace’s Love 78 

XXV. Not altogether Satisfactory 82 

XXVI. An Esteemed Contemporary 85 

XXVII. Spoopendyke’s Suspenders 89 

XXVIII. A Peculiar Boarder 93 

XXIX. Straightening the Accounts 96 

XXX. Some Difficulty about the Calls 99 

XXXI. The First Woman of Bismarck 101 

XXXIlS Fifine . 107 

XXXIII. A Complicated Garment 112 

XXXIV. Facts versus Poetry 116 

XXXV. Woman in Politics 120 

XXXVI. Dropping into Poetry 125 

XXXVII. The Difficulties of an Orator 129 

XXXVIII. The Yarn of the Kissing Parson 133 

XXXIX. A Little Large in the Neck 135 

XL. He was from Deadwood 139 

XLI. Opening Sardines 141 


MR, AND MRS, SPOOPENDYKE, 



THE FIFTEEN PUZZLE. 

Mpv. Spoopendyke of Clinton Street is one of the most 
cheery, cheerful gentlemen in Brooklyn, and his wife is 
the soul of good humor. 

Friday afternoon Mr. Spoopendyke brought home a 
"fifteen puzzle,” and told his wife he had bet a hat he 
could solve it. 

"’Deed you can,” said she., preparing to assist him; 
" I’d like to know what you can’t do and she dusted 
off the table so he wouldn’t muss his cuffs. 

He pulled out the box. "Now,” said he, "you see 
these blocks run four in a row up to twelve, and then 
there are three — numbers 13, 14 and 15. I muss them 
around, and the object is to make them come out just 
as they were ; consecutively, you know.” 

" Certainly. That’s easy ;” and she put the 15 block 
in her mouth while she swashed around with the rest. 

"What’n thunder you doing?” demanded Mr. Spoop- 
endyke, "you mustn’t take ’em out ! ” 

" Oh ! ” said she, putting the block back upside down, 
( 5 ) 


6 


MB. AND MBS. SFOOPENDYKE. 


"You mustn’t take ’em out, eh ! well, we’ll do it with 
’em in.” 

Mr. Spoopendyke moved the cubes around awhile, 
and then pondered. 

"I see,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, "I’ve got it! put 
that 12 down there and the 11 up here, and then move 
’em around.” 

He did it and they were worse than before. 

" Hold on ! ” she exclaimed, " now put ” 

"S’pose you hold on,” he responded. "This thing 
works by hand, not steam. You’ve got to go slow. 
Now I’ll put the 14 there and that lets the 13 come up 
in place. Then we put the 15 here and slip down 
the 9.” 

" That ain’t right. That makes it 11, 10, 12. You 
want to get the 9 up and transpose those.” 

" Lemme be, will ye ? I’m going to fix those. There 
— now I’ll bring down the 12 and carry ” 

"But you can’t. You’ve got — — ” 

" I haven’t either. There’s the 14, 15, 13. I’ve only 
to make them run 13, 14, 15, and then ” 

" Why, you can’t even count. What are you going 
to do with the 10, 11, 12?” 

"Do with them? What d’ye s’pose I’m going to do 
with them? Think I’m going to bore a hole in ’em 
and wear them for socks ? Talk sense if }^ou know any. 
Now I’ll put the 10 in here and that lets the 9 in. Then 
we move the 11 up and get the 12 in place.” 

"But where’s your 13, 14 and 15?” 

"They are right here, Mrs. Spoopendyke; did you 
think they’d gone to prayer meeting? Confound a 
woman around a puzzle, anyway. Just you lemme 


“ THE FIFTEEN FUZZ LET 'J 

figure on this alone, will ye ? I guess I know how tc 
fix this.” 

" Of course you do,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, sooth- 
ingly ; "you can get it if anyone can.” 

"Just see, now. If I can only get the last three 
straight, I’ve got it. H’m— ah ! yes. The 15 goes here.- 
Now I’ve got it. Then the 13 and then the 14. Just 
move — hold on.” 

" I see where you’re wrong,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke. 
" You want to move ” 

" I don’t want to do any such thing.” 

" Yes, you do ; just move ” 

"Well, if I move it’ll be about eight miles from here, 
where I can have some peace.” 

" Don’t be so touchy ; all you’ve got ” 

"If you don’t let this puzzling business alone, I’ll just 
make a hole in the air with it. What do you know 
about it, anyway ? I’ve got it all but three blocks — — ” 

" Well, I’ll show you how to get those.” 

"Then show me ; show me ; just show me, that’s all. 
Oh ! show me. Why don’t you show me how it’s done ? ” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke moved them around and then 
studied awhile. 

" Why don’t you show me ? ” demanded Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. "You said you’d show me. I’m waiting to be 
shown. Go on with your showing. Let the show pro- 
ceeds” 

"K one could only get that 12 out of the way so the 
13 would come in, we’d be all right,” mused Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. 

"Oh! certainly, certainly. If — if -the 12 had a 
pair of legs and could build a railroad around the 15 


8 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


and then would give the 14 a free pass he might ride 
into his place. Say, Mrs. Spoopendyke, if you’ll quit 
handling that 15 block like a stove lid and take your 
thumb out of the blank square, I’d be obliged to you. 
Le’see now. The 14 goes here ” 

" No, it don’t ; it goes there.” 

" Goes where ? ” 

"Why there.” 

"There ! Where? There, may mean up the chimney 
or down my throat. Where ? Where do you mean ? ” 

"Why, there, of course; can’t you see? I believe 
you’re crazy ! ” 

"I’m not crazy, Mrs. Spoopendyke, nor am I a 
woman. I might just as well put that block in the fire 
as where you say. I’ll put it here.” 

"Then you’re all wrong. It goes here.” 

" A minute ago you said it went there. Let it alone, 
I tell you. Drop it. Put it back where you found it. 
Now, let things be. I’ll move this 12 down here.” 

" That makes a fine arrangement ! Nobody but a 
lunatic would put it there. Put it here.” 

"Go way from here. You ain’t half witted. I can 
do this puzzle.” 

" You can’t do anything, you old idiot. You deserve 
to lose your hat. Go stand around bareheaded and 
cool your skull, you old heathen. You do a puzzle ! 
You don’t know the bottom of the box from the top.” 

Crash. Down went the outfit, and Mr. Spoopendyke 
crawled into bed. 

Mrs. Spoopendyke rearranged the blocks and went 
to work at them. 

"Thomas,” said she, timidly, after a while, "look 
here.” 


PREPARING TO ENJOY THEMSELVES. 9 

He looked. She had solved it. 

"1 could have done it,” he growled. 

"Yes,” said she, "if you had done it in my way.” 

" You only did it just as I was doing it,” he responded. 
"You picked it up where I left olf.” 

"Yes,” she replied, putting out the light, "I picked 
it olf the floor.” 


II. 


PREPARING TO ENJOY THEMSELVES. 

"Now we haven’t got much time to get ready, my 
dear,” suggested Mr. Spoopendyke, cheerily, " and I 
won’t be late at a dinner-party. I want you to fix up 
so as to be the best-looking woman at the table. You 
can get ready in an hour, can’t you ? ” 

"I think I can,” replied Mrs. Spoopendyke, with a 
titter. "Oh, yes, I can dress in that time, and I hope 
you won’t be disappointed in me and the little woman 
began to take down her back hair. 

"You might get my shaving tackle for me,” said Mr. 
Spoopendyke, appropriating the only mirror. "And 
now I think of it,” he continued, after a pause, " my 
dress-6oat needs a button. Sew it on, won’t you ? ” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke lugged out the coat and hunted 
through the broken-down old bag after a button that 
would do. 

" Got that button sewed on yet ? ” inquired Mr. Spoop- 
endyke, lathering away comfortably. 


10 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


"In a minute, my dear,” responded his wife. 

" Well, hurry up ; I want you to put these studs and 
sleeve buttons into my clean shirt.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke gradually got around to these 
offices and laid out the habiliment in readiness for her 
lord. 

" Did you take these stitches in my gloves ? ” inquired 
Mr. Spoopendyke. 

" Oh 1 yes, certainly, ” replied Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
going right to work at it. 

" Well, then you can brush my vest and pantaloons, 
and by that time 111 be ready to have you tie my 
cravat.” 

A few moments more found Mr. Spoopendyke arrayed 
completely. 

"Come, you ready?” he demanded, having assured 
himself that his wife had not accomplished a single step 
toward her toilet. 

" Not quite, dear,” responded the lady, with one-half 
her hair in her mouth and the other half crackling under 
the brush. 

"What’s the matter with you?” he asked. "Didn’t 
you say you could be ready in an hour ? Didn’t you 
hear me tell you when I came in that we only had an 
hour to dress in ? Why can’t you go as you are ? You 
look well enough.” 

" I was busy fixing your things,” faltered Mrs. Spoop- 
endyke, "and I couldn’t do two things at once.” 

" Oh, no ! You can't do anything at once. Why 
didn't you have my things fixed this morning ? Why 
don’t you keep house somehow ? That dress you’ve got 
on is good enough. Why can’t you go in that dress? 


PREPARING TO ENJOY THEMSELVES. 


11 


If you‘ve got to put on all the frills you won't be ready 
till next fall. Ain't you most ready now? Think 
I’m going to stand around here like a jug of mineral 
water ? ” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke twisted up her hair and jammed 
in the pins. Then she put on her hat and twitched it 
first to one side and then the other ; put one hand up 
behind and shoved it forward, and then caught hold ot' 
it in front and pulled it down. 

"Well, if you’re ready, let’s start,” growled Mr. 
Spoopendyke. "You’ve been long enough for a tele- 
graph wire, now. Come on.” 

" Oh ! I haven’t got my dress on yet,” pleaded Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. " I’ll be through in a minute.” 

" Dod gast the dress ! ” ejaculated Mr. Spoopendyke. 
" Where’s my paper? Give me my paper and I’ll read 
for a month or two. You won’t be ready till spring. 
Where’s the paper?” 

"Take a book, dear,” recommended Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, blushing deeply and glancing around nervously. 

" I don’t want any measly book,” retorted Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. "I want the morning paper. Find that 
paper the first thing you do, and then you get ready in 
four seconds.” 

" I think you’ll find the paper behind — the book-case,’’ 
said Mrs. Spoopendyke, as red as a brick, and she 
hustled into her skirt and began clawing at it behind in 
an effort to loop it up straight. "I’m almost ready,” 
she giggled hysterically, as she drew on her waist and 
buttoned it up nervously. "I’ll be ready before you 
could turn the paper inside out,” and she snatched a 
ribbon from the drawer, tied it in a bow, pinned it at 


12 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


her throat and backed away from the glass to see how 
it looked. 

" I want to know whether you are going to find that 
dod gasted paper for me ! ” thundered Mr. Spoopendyke. 

" I’m all ready except my cloak,” jerked out Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. " If you’ll hand me my cloak we’ll start 
right away. It’s in the closet there.” And Mrs. Spoop- 
end\dse flopped down on the floor and began putting 
on her shoes. 

" S’pose I’m going to hunt around for that measly 
cloak?” howled Mr. Spoopendyke. "Can’t you get 
your things for yourself? I want my paper, and I 
want it now.” 

"I can tell you what was in it,” said Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke. "I can tell you till about it while I dress,” 
and she looked up at him piteously, with her face all 
flushed. 

"No doubt,” retorted Mr. Spoopendyke. "You 
know all about it. All you want is a can of oil and ten 
men swearing at you all day to be a printing-press. 
When are you going ” 

"Now I’m all ready, dear,” smiled Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, who wasn’t anything of the sort. " You won't 
need to read now, for we’re going.” 

They started off together, arm in arm, Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke growling and his wife hitching at her various 
garments as they went along. 

"Another time we’re going out to dinner, you be 
ready the day before, you hear?” demanded Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. 

" Yes, dear,” responded his wife ; and then she thought 
to herself, "I’m very glad he didn’t insist on looking 
for that paper.” 


ANNABEL LEE. 


13 


III. 

ANNABEL LEE. 

’Twas more than a million years ago, 

Or so, it seems to me, 

That I used to prance around and beau 
The beautiful Annabel Lee. 

There were other girls in the neighborhood, 
But none was a patch to she. 

And this was the reason that long ago, 

My love fell out of a tree, 

And busted herself on a cruel rock ; 

A solemn sight to see, 

For it spoiled the hat and gown and looks 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

We loved with a love that was lovely love, 

I and my Annabel Lee, 

And we went one day to gather the nuts 
That men call hickoree — 

And I stayed below in the rosy glow 
While she shinned up the tree : 

But no sooner up than down kerslup 
Came the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

And the pallid moon and the hectic noon 
Bring gleams of dreams for me, 


u 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE . 


Of the desolate and the desperate fate 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

And I often think as I sink on the brink 
Of slumber’s sea, of the warm pink link 
That bound my soul to Annabel Lee ; 
And it wasn’t just best for her interest 
To climb that hickory tree. 

For had she stayed below with me, 

We’d had no hickory nuts, may be, 

But I would have had my Annabel Lee. 


IY. 


A PERTINACIOUS LANDLORD. 

" Isn’t there such a crime as conduct calculated to 
provoke a breach of the peace ? ” asked a nervous-look- 
ing man of a police justice, yesterday morning. 

" Of course there is,” responded the justice. 

" Then gimme a warrant for my landlord,” demanded 
the nervous man. 

"What has he done?” asked the justice, eying the 
suitor suspiciously. 

" He comes to my house when I’ve got company and 
says he wants the four months’ rent I owe him, and sits 
out on the front steps and howls for his money. If I 
should kick the whole spine out of him, I’d be arrested, 
wouldn’t I?” 


A PERTINACIOUS LANDLORD. 


15 


"Yes, I think you would. Why don’t you pay 
him ? ” 

" That isn’t the question. He comes to my house at 
four o’clock in the morning and yells through the key- 
hole, and then he goes up through the vacant house 
next door and gets on my roof and shouts down the 
chimney. Says he will have that money. If I should 
drop a flat iron on him, or blow him up with powder, 
it would go hard with me, wouldn’t it?” 

" Pretty apt to. Can’t you come to some under- 
standing with him ? ” 

"It seems not. Say, has he got a right to climb 
over my fence and have fits in my back yard, just 
because I owe him a little money? ” 

" Does he do that ? ” 

" Of course he does ; and when we haul him in the 
house, he yells murder and draws a crowd. Have I 
got a right to maul the life out of him with a club for 
that?” 

" I think not,” responded the judge. " Why don’t 
you move?” 

" That’s got nothing to do with it. I want to know 
if he is entitled to slip up on the ice and fall through 
my basement window, and do ten dollars’ worth of 
damage to the glass? Couldn’t I mash the stuffing 
out of him for that?” 

" Certainly not.” 

" But when he lays down on the sidewalk and howls 
that his mother is dead and he can’t bury her because 
I won’t pay what I owe him $ haven’t; I got qny 
remedy ? ” 

" I don’t know of any. I think you’d better pay 


16 


ME. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" But isn’t it conduct calculated to provoke a breach 
of the peace, when he comes around with a quart of 
laudanum and a horse-pistol and threatens to take ’em 
both right on the premises if I don’t put up? Ain't it 
a crime when he hangs himself to a tree in front of my 
house with a paper pinned on him that I drove him 
to suicide ? Has he got a right to make faces at my 
children in Sunday school? Won’t the law touch him 
for coming to my door at daylight as drunk as a lord 
and claiming he’s me, and yelling that I want to get in 
and lick my wife ? ” 

" I don’t think you can do anything but pay him or 
move. The man has a right to his money.” 

" That’s all I want to know,” replied the nervous 
man, appearing relieved. "I’m the landlord, and my 
tenant says he’ll have me arrested for doing these 
things. Now you bet he’ll put up that wealth or I’ll 
fall off the top of the house and have the inquest in the 
parlor. A man can’t live four months in my house for 
nothing without going to some trouble, now you hear 
me ; ” and the nervous man pranced off glowing all 
over with grim determination. 


V. 


THE MEDICINE CHEST. 

" My dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, after a long and 
gloomy pause, "my dear, I’m not feeling very well, 


THE MEDICINE CHEST. 


17 


to-night, and I think I’ll take some of those anti-bilious 
pills. That idea of yours, the idea of having a little 
medicine chest, with everything handy, is an excellent 
one, and if you can find those pills, I believe I’ll take 
a dose.” 

"They are just what you need,” said Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, sympathetically; "your tongue is coated and 
your complexion looks very. yellow, lately.” 

" I don’t remember calling on you for any remarks 
about my complexion, Mrs. Spoopen dyke, and as for 
my tongue being coated, we will assume that it has also 
got on vest, trousers, and boots. What I asked for 
was pills, pills, Mrs. Spoopendyke, not oratory.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke bustled into the closet, and after 
considerable search, found a ribbon box with one end 
knocked out. In it were half a dozen blue papers that 
belonged to the large end of a seidlitz powder, a dose 
and a half of boneset, a bursted paper of salts, an 
empty cough-syrup bottle, two lumps of sugar, four 
soda crackers, half a lemon, a lump of camphor, a 
mustard plaster, and seven pill boxes without covers. 

" I think these are the pills you want,” said Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, scratching around in the bottom of the 
medicine chest. " Do you remember whether they 
were white, brown, or black?” 

" I’m not particular about the color,” responded Mr. 
Spoopendyke, sardonically. "What I want is anti- 
bilious pills. I brought home a box and told you to 
put ’em away carefully. If you’ve drowned them in 
that measly old box it isn’t my fault. What I want is 
pills, anti-bilious pills.” 

"This looks like them,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 


18 


MB . AND MBS. SBOOBENDYKE. 


squashing one between her thumb and finger, and 
smelling at it cautiously. " Do you remember whether 
they were sugar-coated ? ” 

"I do not,” rejoined Mr. Spoopendyke, "nor do I 
remember whether they wore a stand-up collar or a 
plug hat. If you think I’m going to sit around here 
like a book on heraldry and furnish you with the ante- 
cedents of them pills you’ve lost sight of our relations, 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. I want to know whether you can 
find ’em or not.” 

"Is this one of them? ’’asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
chasing a refractory pellet into a corner and fishing it 
out with some misgivings. "It looks like it, and I 
can’t think what else it’s for. Suppose you take this.” 

" Does it say so on the cover ? Does the cover say 
it’s anti-bilious?” 

" I can’t find the cover,” responded Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, helplessly. "Here’s a box; will that do?” 

" Oh ! certainly, anything’ll do for me ! ” howled Mr. 
Spoopendyke. " All I want is a box and a pill. It 
don’t make any difference whether they go together or 
not. Do you know a pill from a post-office ? Can you 
tell the difference between a pill box and a policeman ? 
S’pose I’m going to eat one of those things without 
knowing whether it’s a railroad bond or a corn plaster ? 
What did ye mix ’em up for anyhow? S’pose I’m 
going to speculate in those pills till one hits my liver? 
Think I’m going to take ’em in courses, like an alumni 
banquet ? Have I got to get out a search warrant to 
find them pills ? ” 

" Suppose you put on this mustard plaster,” sug- 
gested Mrs. Spoopendyke, holding it up before him. 


THE MEDICINE CHEST. 


19 


" Mustard is the best thing in the world to excite action 
of the liver.” 

"Oh ! yes, certainly, certainly,” sneered Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. " What a head you’ve got for physic ! If I 
could get you to hold a red light in your mouth and tie 
a soda fountain around your neck I’d start you for a 
drug store. How are you going to tie a mustard 
plaster around my liver ? Don’t you know the differ- 
ence between a mustard plaster and a box of pills'? 
What did you spill ’em for, anyhow 7 ? Think I’m going 
to eat mixed pills, like candy? Been trying to make a 
pill salad, haven’t you ? Going to find them dod gasted 
things this week? ” 

"Let me think,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, musingly. 
" These white ones are quinine ; these brown pills are 
opium, now I remember, and the black ones are the 
ones you want. How many make a dose ? ” 

" None ! ” yelled Mr. Spoopendyke. "• ’Spose I’m 
going to take those things on their color? Think I’m 
going to run the chances of filling myself up with 
opium just to test your eye for tints ? Think I’m going 
to shut my eyes and draw a pill like I was playing a 
game of forfeits? I don’t want any pills anyway. 
Throw ’em out ! Pitch that measly medicine chest out 
of the window ! Next time I want pills I’ll — ” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke went to the closet, put the chest 
away, and as she did so noticed a little box that had 
fallen out on the shelf. 

"Here they are, dear,” she said, smiling, and point- 
ing out the label to her liege. 

" Oh, yes, of course ! ” growled Mr. Spoopendyke, 
"you found ’em, didn’t you? Couldn’t give ’em to me 


20 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


at first, could you? Another time, Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
I want you to let things alone. Don’t ever put any- 
thing more of mine in that chest ; you hear me ? I 
don’t want these things to-night, ’cause I ain’t sure I’m 
bilious, but when I am I want these pills where I can 
find ’em, you understand? I don’t want to go rooting 
around the house after pills again, when I’m sick, or 
I’ll quit housekeeping and go to boarding. You under- 
stand that ? ” 

"Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, slipping the 
pills into her pocket. 


VI. 


couldn’t feel at home. 

"Stranger, have yer got some bitin’ whiskey, suthin’ 
that takes the innards right by the collar, and makes a 
man think he’s br’ilin’ for an hour afterwards ? ” asked 
a gentleman in a butternut suit and a coon-skin cap, at 
a fashionable Brooklyn bar, yesterday. 

" I think I’ve got what you want,” said the barkeeper. 
"Try this.” 

The stranger smelled it and shook his head dolefully. 

" Do ye think this would make a man dig up his dead 
enemies and lick ’em over a^ain ? ” he asked. " Would 
a slug of this pizen get a fellow to induce his mother to 
murder his wife, and then run for sheriff, so as to hang 
the old woman for the crime ? ” 


COULDN’T FEEL AT HOME. 


21 


"I don’t know about that,” said the barkeeper, "it’s 
pretty strong fluid.” 

" I know. But is it strong enough to make a man 
rob his own daughter and then lick the daylight out of 
her for losin’ her money ? Would it be what you would 
use if you wanted to salt your wife down and deal her 
out in a boarding-house for boned turkey, extra prime? 
W ould you drink it if you felt like burning down a 
church full of children, so as to get the nails out of 
their boots? That’s the kind of liquor I want.” 

"Here’s some terribly bad whiskey, if that’s what 
you are after,” said the barkeeper, putting out another 
bottle. 

Again the stranger smelled, and shook his head 
sadly. 

"I am surprised at yer, barkeep. Yer don’t under- 
stand the finer feelin’s. I want suthin’ that would make 
me rob the donation box of an orphan asylum. Suthin’ 
that would make me kick a sick woman overboard and 
pound her with a board afterwards. I want liquor that 
makes a fellow 7 bury his mother alive and plough her 
under for fertilizer. Suthin’ that would make a man 
set his children to stealin’ so he could give ’em away 
and get witnesses fees for convictin’ ’em. Have yer got 
anything of that sort ? ” 

"That’s the worst I’ve got,” said the horrified bar- 
keeper. " You can take it or leave it.” 

" The fact is,” explained the stranger, as he poured 
down half a pint of the material without a shudder, 
" the fact is that I live in Dakota, and I was feelin’ 
homesick. So I thought if I could only get a taste of 
the genuine old stuff it would raise my spirits. But 


22 


MB. AND. MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


that isn’t the whiskey I wanted. This makes me feel 
like tendin’ money, and it don’t do me no good. Good- 
hy, barkeep.” 

And the homesick stranger turned mournfully away. 


VII. 

ALONE. 

The moonlight falls on the old barn floor, 
Through many a rent and chink, 

And clings around the old house door, 

In many a silver link. 

But the roar of the fire and the crash of the flail 
Died many a moon agone, 

And the gleams that stream like a snowy gale, 
Are dancing there alone. 

The bucket-chain creaks in the empty well, 

And the swallows live in the eaves ; 

Long, long ago the chimney fell, 

And the doorstep is buried in leaves. 

The dust and the shadows in rivalries 
Have seized the old hearth stone, 

And the dusky trees, in the evening breeze, 
Moan and groan alone. 

The moonbeams on the roof-tree fall 
With soft and tender tread, 

And the dewdrops fall through the wounded wall 
Like tear-drops for the dead — 


A SLIGHT INDISPOSITI OX. 


23 


And the shadow of death, cold, dark, intense, 
Is over all — save one, 

For the old tom-cat still clings to the fence, 
Though he growls and howls alone. 


VIII. 

A SLIGHT INDISPOSITION. 

" That’s better,” groaned Mr. Spoopendyke, as his 
wife arranged the cool pillows under his head ; " now I 
can die looking out upon the trees and the sky and 
Mr. Spoopendyke assumed a resigned expression of 
visage, and gazed out of the corner of one eye upon a 
bare alianthus tree and half a dozen telegraph wires. 

" Oh ! you won’t die,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke cheer- 
fully. " You’re only a little sick, and you’ll get over 
it.” 

" That’s all you know about it,” snarled Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. " To hear you talk one would think you only 
had to be fitted up with little beds and a bad smell to be 
a government hospital. I’m down sick, I tell ye, and 
I don’t want any fooling about it.” 

"Well, well,” cooed Mrs. Spoopendyke, "don’t ex- 
cite yourself. Keep quiet and you’ll get well.” 

" Much you’d care,” muttered Mr. Spoopendyke, turn- 
ing on his side and resting his cheek on his hand, an 
attitude generally assumed by martyred spirits on the 
approach of dissolution. 


24 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


"Will you take your drops again, dear?” asked Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. " It’s time for them.” 

" No, I won’t. They’re nasty. I haven’t had any- 
thing but drops for a week. From the way you ad- 
minister drops one would think you was the trap-door 
of a hanging machine. Gimme some figs.” 

" But there ain’t any figs, dear. I’ll go and get you 
some,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" That’s it,” growled her husband. " You only want 
an excuse to leave me to die alone. Why haven’t ye 
got some figs? You might know I’d want figs. Got 
any citron? 

"No, I haven’t any citron, but I won’t be more than 
a minute away, and I’ll get you any fruit you want.” 

" Oh! yes. You’d get it, I’ve no doubt. What you 
want is a rail fence around you and a gate off the hinges 
to be a dod gasted orchard. Fetch me some straw- 
berries.” 

"Why, strawberries are out of season. There ain’t 
any in the market now.” 

" I supposed you’d say that,” moaned Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " You’ve always got some excuse. If I should 
die you’d have an apology ready. Gimme something 
to take this taste out of my mouth.” 

"What would you like, dear?” asked Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke. 

" Soap, dod gast it ! gimme soap, if ye can’t think of 
anything else,” demanded Mr. Spoopendyke. " Mebbe 
you ain’t got any soap. At least you wouldn’t have if 
I wanted it. Got any cherries ?” 

"No. They are out of season, too. There are some 
grapes in the closet. 


A SLIGHT INDISPOSITION. 


25 


''Don’t want any measly grapes. If I can't have 
what I want I don't want it. Where’s those drops? 
Why don’t you give me my medicine ? Going to let 
me die for want of a little attention? Want the life 
insurance, don’t ye? Going to gimme those drops 
before the next election ? ” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke ladled out the dose, half of which 
went down Mr. Spoopendyke’s gullet and half over the 
front of his night-shirt. 

" That’s it,” he howled. " Spill ’em. They’re for 
external application. Put ’em anywhere. Pour ’em up 
the chimney,” and Mr. Spoopendyke fired the spoon 
across the room. 

" Have a piece of orange to take the taste away ? ” 
asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, pleasantly. 

" No, I won’t,” objected her spouse. " Gimme a 
piece of muskmelon.” 

" I don’t believe they have muskmelons in Novem- 
ber,” sighed Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" Of course they don’t,” reasoned Mr. Spoopendyke. 
" They don’t have anything when I’m sick. It’s a 
wonder they have houses. It’s a miracle that they 
Jiave beds. I’m astounded to think they have doctors 
and drug stores. I’ve got to hurry up and die, or they 
won’t have any undertakers, or coffins, or graves. 
Gimme a piece of orange, will ye? S’pose I’m going 
to lie here and chaw on the taste of those drops for a 
month ? ” 

" You’d like these grapes,” suggested his wife. 

" No I wouldn’t either. What do you want me to 
eat ’em for? Got any interest in the grape trade? 
Get any commission on those grapes? Anybody pay 


26 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYEE. 


ye to make me eat ’em? One would think you only 
wanted an iron arbor and four small boys climbing over 
you to be a grape-vine. Where’s my pill?” 

" You took your pill, dear,” replied his patient wife. 
" Oh, of course 1 A pill is out of season now. 
Can’t even have a pill when I feel like it ; ” and Mr. 
Spoopendyke groaned in spirit and looked dismal. 
" Now sit down and don’t move. I want to sleep. 
Don’t you make a bit of noise if you want me to Jive.” 

And Mrs. Spoopendyke held her breath and never 
rustled a feather while her husband lay and glared out 
of the window for an hour and a half. 


IX. 

LES INCOMPREHENSIBLES. 

After Victor Hugo. 

BOOK I. 

A man sat on a picket fence. 

Picket fences were invented by Charlemagne and 
improved upon by Charles II. of England. 

Still the man sat on the fence. 

BOOK II. 

The fence surrounded a tall, gloomy building. The 
building had shutters at the window. The man was a 
Frenchman. There were other Frenchmen in the same 
neighborhood. They were in bed. Frenchmen were 


LES INCOMPBEHENSIBLES. 


27 


discovered by Oliver Cromwell, and subsequently 
patented by the author. They are copyrighted. All 
Frenchmen not bearing the signature of the author are 
spurious. 

It was night. It was a dark night. Darkness is a 
shadow that rises from the ground when the sun goes 
down. 

The man on the fence was thinking. His name was 
Lippiatt. 


BOOK III. 

Lippiatt loved Maronette. Maronette was a girl. 
She knew Lippiatt. She did not know that Lippiatt 
loved her. 

Maronette lived in the gloomy house. Lippiatt did 
not tell Maronette that he loved her. He was contented 
to sit on the fence in front of her house. He was a 
quiet man. Like all Frenchmen he was the bravest 
man in thirteen counties. He was a tailor. A tailor 
is one who promises to have your clothes done Satur- 
day, and then brings them around week after next. 

Lippiatt was poor. All heroes are poor. 

BOOK iv. 

Maronette opened a window and shied an old boot 
at Lippiatt. 

" Is that you, Lippiatt?” she asked. 

" Yes,” said Lippiatt. 

Maronette laughed. 

" My father says I must marry the man who will 
bring him the Norwegian maelstrom,” said Maronette. 

Lippiatt got off the fence and walked away. 


28 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


BOOK Y. 

Like all tailors in France, Lippiatt was a good sailor. 
He stole a boat and started for the coast of Norway. 
A fearful storm came on. The world drew on a heavy 
cloak to protect it from the storm. The sea opened a 
thousand mouths to swallow Lippiatt. It was hungry 
for him. His beard and hair were filled with salt. 
Great, grasping hands of darkness reached down to 
snatch him. 

Lippiatt only laughed. 

The sea grew wilder. Monsters of water crowded 
against the boat. They were reaching for Lippiatt. 
He steered his boat to avoid them. 

A wave averages twenty feet in height. It contains 
four hundred tons of water. It is thicker at the base 
than at the top. In that respect it is like a pyramid. 
But it is not three-cornered. It is oval in shape. A 
round wave is a waterspout. A waterspout is thick at 
the top and bottom ^nd slender in the middle. 

Lippiatt knew this. 

He was not afraid of waves. He was fearful of water- 
spouts. 


BOOK VI. 

In four days Lippiatt arrived at the maelstrom. 

"It is for Maronette,” said he. 

The maelstrom is shaped like a funnel. The lower 
end is at the bottom. The mouth is at the top. It is 
caused by the tides. The Norwegians suppose it is 
caused by a hole in the earth. Lippiatt knew better. 

He went down in the maelstrom and fastened a rope 
around the lower end. To this rope he adjusted blocks 


LES INCOMPREHENSIBLE S. 


29 


and pulleys. Then he climbed out of the pit and fast- 
ened the other end of the rope to the masthead. The 
blocks gave him a purchase. 

He rested. 


BOOK VII. 

Having rested, Lippiatt pulled on the rope. He 
pulled the maelstrom inside out. The bottom was then 
at the top. It spun around like an inverted top. 

Lippiatt drove a staple into it and fastened his line. 
Then he set sail. The maelstrom followed. 

" I shall marry Maronette,” he said. 

BOOK VIII. 

Another man sat on the picket fence. It was Goude- 
nay. Goudenay loved Maronette. Maronette loved 
Goudenay. 

Goudenay saw something coming into the harbor. 

" What is that?” he asked. 

It looked like an inverted funnel. It was a thousand 
feet high. 

w I don’t know,” said Maronette. 

She was right. She didn’t. 

BOOK IX. 

Lippiatt disembarked. He took the maelstrom on his 
shoulders. Then he went to the gloomy house. He 
hung the maelstrom on the picket fence. 

" How do you do, Goudenay ? ” he asked. 

He knew Goudenay. He had disappointed him about 
some trousers. 


30 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYEE. 


" I am happy,” said Goudenay ; " I am going to marry 
Maronette.” 

Lippiatt looked at Maronette. 

"Yes,” she said, "I marry Goudenay this morning.” 
BOOK X. 

Lippiatt went to the wedding. 

He gave Maronette a silver card-receiver. 

Maronette smiled. 

Lippiatt went back to the picket fence. He ate the 
maelstrom up. 


BOOK XI. 

As the wedding party went home, they saw a dead 
body lying beside the picket fence. The point of the 
maelstrom was sticking out of the mouth. 

" Good gracious ! ” said Maronette. 

" Holy smoke ! ” exclaimed Goudenay. 

It was Lippiatt. 


X. 

HOW THEY MISSED THE MASQUERADE. 

"Say, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he hur- 
ried in, hot and breathless, late from his business, 
"did you get me a fancy dress for the masquerade 
to-night ? ” 

" It’s all ready,” replied Mrs. Spoopendyke, beaming. 
"You go as — let me see — . I go as a Spanish guitar- 


HOW THEY MISSED THE MASQUERADE . 31 

girl, and you go as — as — its either Louis Fourteenth, or 
Oliver Cromwell or Sir Robert Burns, I’ve forgotten 
which the man called it.” 

" I do, do I ? ” said Mr. Spoopendyke, glaring around. 
"I go as one of ’em, do I? As they are all dead, and 
as I will do for all three, p’raps you got a coffin. Show 
me the coffin. Fetch out the interconvertible cata- 
falque and help me on with it. Has it got sleeves ? ” 

" It isn’t a coffin,” explained Mrs. Spoopendyke. " It 
is a doublet and — ” 

"It’s a doublet, is it? Well, that relieves me of one 
of ’em. I thought from the way you spoke, Mrs. Spoop- 
eudyke, it was a triplet. Is there a trousers with it? 
Got a shirt? I told you to get me a bandit suit, didn’t 
I? Fetch out this Cromwell business ! Show me this 
man Burns ! Any sword go with it?” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke brought forth a worn red-velvet 
jacket, trimmed with tarnished braid, and a pair of 
yellow velvet knee-breeches, slashed up the side. This 
she supplemented with a felt hat, and a pair of jack- 
boots armed with spurs. 

" Maybe it is a bandit’s suit, after all,” she suggested. 

"Which is the Louis Fourteenth end of this thing?” 
demanded Mr. Spoopendkye. " Where does the Oliver 
Cromwell part begin ? Show me the Burns element on 
this schedule ! If I’m going to get into this thing 
chronologically I must begin with the measly king and 
wind oil* with the dod gasted poet ; which is the king- 
part?” and Mr. Spoopendyke shot out of his business 
suit and drew on the velvet trousers. " Where’s the 
rest of ’em?” he demanded, surveying an expanse of 
unclothed limb. " This whole thing is only one ieg. 


32 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPEXDYKE. 


Where’s the pair for the other leg? Give me some 
more trousers and Mr. Spoopendyke scowled about 
him. 

"Don't the boots come up to meet them?” asked 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, in some trepidation. 

Mr. Spoopendyke pulled on the boots, but still there 
was an exposed space of nearly a foot. 

" I s’pose this bare -legged arrangement is the Burns 
part,” grinned Mr. Spoopendyke. " He was a High- 
lander, and this much of me is Burns. Show me the 
Cromwell part now. Is that hat it ? ” and Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke put on the hat and breathed hard. " Where’s the 
rest of me ? My head and legs are all right ; bring out 
my back and stomach ! ” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke handed him the jacket and he 
plunged into it with a jerk. 

"That what you wanted?” he howled. "Couldn’t 
you make more’n three epochs of me ? Didn’t the man 
have but three historical dates ? Pull that jacket down 
a couple of centuries, can’t ye? Don't you seethe bot- 
tom of the dod gasted thing is two hundred years from 
reaching the waistband of the Burns breeches ? ” and 
Mr. Spoopendyke tugged at the abbreviated coat and 
snorted with wrath. 

"Maybe that was the way it was meant to go,” ar- 
gued Mrs. Spoopendyke. " I saw” — 

"You sawed off the coat and pants, now s’pose you 
saw off a rod of this hat and patch ’em out again ! 
When did Cromwell wear that hat? What kind of a 
bet did he win that on? Say, where’s the scaffold that 
goes with these measly politicians ? Fetch out the 
headsman ! ” and Mr. Spoopendyke danced into the 


HOW THEY MISSED THE MASQUERADE. 


33 


closet and out again. " Where’s the louse that goes with 
the Burns part? Bring me some Charles I. to hide 
my legs ! ' Praise God from whom all blessings flow,’ 

for man was made to mourn because his head was 
chopped off!” shrieked Mr. Spoopendyke, combining 
the historical ideas he represented in one grand yell. 
"Fetch me three suppers for one dod gasted old idiot 
that trusted his wife to find a suit for him ! ” and Mr. 
Spoopendyke thrust his arm to the shoulder through 
the Covenanter’s hat, and split the coat of the lamented 
Louis from tail to collar-band. "Look out for some 
Scotch romance ! ” and he ripped off the pants and fired 
them into the grate. " Here comes another page in the 
annals of crime ! ” and the boots went out the window. 

" And we — can’t go — go to the — mas — masquerade at 
all ! ” sobbed Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

"Write an epitaph on the back of my neck, and I’ll 
go as a tombstone ! ” yawped Mr. Spoopendyke. " Put 
three bells in my side and a torn stair-carpet at my 
back, and I’ll go as a French flat ! Discharge the hired 
girl and get up a cold dinner, and I’ll go as a boarding- 
house ! But if you think I’m going to any measly 
masquerade in bare legs like a baby, and bare-backed 
like a circus, just to advertise a hymn-book, a gin-mill 
and a broad-axe factory, you’re left, Mrs. Spoopendyke. 
You hear me? You’re left!” and Mr. Spoopendyke 
drew on his night-shirt. 

"It’s too awfully mean for anything,” mused Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, as she laid away the Spanish guitar-girl’s 
costume, and warmed up her crimping pins. "I tried 
to get something that would suit him, and he don’t 
appear pleased with it. Another time I’ll get him a sheet 


34 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOFENDYKE. 


and a pair of socks, so lie can be a Roman senator, and 
if he is disappointed and tears ’em up it won’t cost so 
much.” With which profound reflection Mrs. Spoop- 
endyke said her prayers, and planting her cold feet in 
Mr. Spoopendyke’s stomach sank gently to rest. 


XI. 


HUNTING FOR A MARKET. 

" I say, stranger, you wouldn’t like to put a little 
money out at four hundred thousand per cent, interest, 
would you ? ” asked a seedy-looking customer, edging 
his way through a crowd of advertisers to the cashier’s 
desk in the " Eagle ” counting-room, yesterday. 

" I don’t know,” replied the cashier, eying him sus- 
piciously ; " what have you got ? ” 

" Got ! What have I got ? I’ve got the deepest, 
widest, straightest ledge in the Territory of Colorado.” 

" I’m not buying any mining stock,” said the cashier, 
running up a column of figures. 

" Right you ain’t ! ” ejaculated the millionaire. " Least- 
ways you ain’t buying any stock in my mine, ’cause it 
ain’t for sale. I would’t part with half a share in that 
ledge for all the money a cooper could barrel in eight 
years. But I’ve got some quartz here that’s going to 
make your eyes bile over when you see it. Be careful 
how you look, now. I seen seven men fairly blinded 
by this chunk o’ wealth before nine o’clock this morn- 
ing. Just throw your hand to your forehead so’s to 


HUNTING FOR A MARKET. 


35 


kind o’ shade your squints while I turn one end loose. 
See this, now.” And he turned back the paper around 
a piece of limestone, and let it project slowly. "Are you 
gettin’ accustomed to it, pardner? Think you dare 
take a wink at the whole racket ? See the silver glisten 
all along here? That’s the dirt I’m diggin’, and I’m 
going to let you have this stuff economical. You can 
get this corner lot away from me for four hundred dol- 
lars. I was offered a thousand, but I’ve saved it for 
you, stranger, ’cause I knowed you was a deservin’ 
young man.” 

" Where’d you find that dornick ? ” asked the cashier, 
contemptuously. 

" Outen my ledge right in the Territory of Colorado. 
Ain’t she a handsome piece of gilt? Look at them 
speckles, stranger : let your lashes rest on them speckles 
of future wealth and ambition gratified, and then rea- 
son to yourself that you’re going to get it for four hun- 
dred dollars.” 

"Don’t want it,” responded the cashier carelessly, 
hunting through his figures for an error. 

" She pans thirty-six thousand ounces to the ton, 
eighteen hundred dollars to the ounce. Would you 
please cal’late that for me in money, stranger ? I have 
been figurin’ so much that I lost all run of these small 
amounts.” 

" Sixty-four million eight hundred thousand dollars,” 
replied the cashier. 

" Jist so. And this yere quarter section of rollin’ in 
luxurjr, what do you estimate its weight? ” 

" Six or eight pounds,” said the cashier eying the 
rock. 


36 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


"Never mind a pound or two, call it six,” said the 
seedy man. " That’s ninety-six ounces. That would 
make this lump of human happiness worth a hundred 
and fifty odd thousand. Gimme seventy-five dollars?” 

" Oh ! go throw it away ! ” said the cashier. " I don’t 
want it at all.” 

"I’m tired carryin’ it around,” observed the seedy 
man. "I’ve got so much of this key to bliss that I 
don’t mind partin’ with it cheap. Say four dollars?” 

"Get out, will you? I can’t bother with you any 
more. I don’t want your cobblestone at any price,” 
ejaculated the exasperated cashier. 

" Say, stranger,” pleaded the seedy man after a mo- 
ment’s pause, " I want to step up street and pay the 
mortgage off the church my poor old step-mother goes 
to. Could you lock this round on the ladder to accom- 
plished hopes in your vault till I come back? I won’t 
be more’n an hour and a ” 

The next instant he rolled off the curbstone, with his 
piece of cheap pavement rattling round his head. 

" I don’t believe anybody’ll interfere with it here,” 
he sighed, as he brushed off his clothes and dropped 
the rock into the nose-bag of a truck horse. " I reckon 
it’s safe. I say ! ” he continued, sticking his head into 
the counting-room door, and hailing the cashier again ; 
" I say, pardner, you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on 
this horse for an hour and a half, while I step up to 
the church ” 

Then the deepening shadows of the gathering gloom 
absorbed him. 


A SIMPLE THICK AT CARDS. 


37 


XII. 

A SIMPLE TRICK AT CARDS. 

"Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he sat 
down opposite his wife and began to shuffle a pack 
of cards, " now I’m going to amuse you with a few 
tricks. 1 think a man ought to entertain his wife in 
the evening and be some society for her, and as I know 
a few simple tricks with cards I’ll amuse you.” 

" I am so glad you are not like some other men,” said 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, giving her chair a hitch; "you 
don’t go out to clubs or sit around in bar-rooms all the 
evening. I always liked card tricks and I’m sure you 
can do them if anybody can.” 

Mr. Spoopendyke smiled and held the pack open like 
a fan for his wife to select. 

" Let me see,” said she, putting her fingers to her lips. 
"I am to pick out one, am I?” 

"Yes,” he responded eagerly, with the ace of spades 
sticking three-quarters of the way out toward her. 
" Pick out the easiest one to grab at and I’ll show you 
a pretty trick.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke ignored the tempting ace and 
selected one from the extreme end of the fan. 

" Must I look at it? ” she asked. 

" Certainly,” responded Mr. Spoopendyke. " Look 
at it and remember what it is,” 

She looked at it and studied it carefully. 


38 MB. and mbs. spoopendyke. 

" Now,” continued Mr. Spoopendyke, "stick it back 
in the pack anywhere ; ” and he divided it and held it 
toward her. 

" You mustn’t know what it is, must you ? ” she asked. 

" Of course not. You are to put it in the pack, and 
by and by I will tell you what it is.” 

Mrs. Spoopendkye jabbed it half way into the centre 
of one of the two sections as Mr. Spoopendyke held 
them. 

" Strange you can’t put it between ’em as you ought 
to,” he growled. " A man would have fixed it an hour 
ago.” 

"It won’t go in,” pleaded Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she 
punched away at it. "I know what’s the matter, why 
your little finger is right in the way. There,” she 
continued, as she seized the pack and drove the card 
home, " now it’s in. Now you can go on with your 
trick.” 

Of course Mr. Spoopendyke had lost all chance of 
finding out what the card was. 

"Now, just draw another,” he said, savagely, "and 
put it where I tell you to. I’m doing this trick, not you. 
All you’ve got to do is to draw and then let things 
alone.” 

" Oh ! ” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, somewhat discon- 
certed, " I didn’t understand it. Now give me one.” 

She took it and slipped it into the pack, just where 
Mr. Spoopendyke wanted her to. Mr. Spoopendyke 
put the two sections together so that the selected card 
came on the bottom, and seeing that it was the seven 
of hearts, shuffled the cards briskly and then handed 
them to his wife. 


A SIMPLE THICK AT GAUDS. 


39 


"In order to show you that it is all fair,” said he, in 
a cheerful tone, "you may shuffle them yourself, Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, shuffle as much as you like.” 

She slammed them around and spilled them for two 
or three minutes. 

"You might leave something to designate them by,” 
said Mr. Spoopendyke, eying the performance askance. 
" Never mind the edges or corners, but leave a chip or 
two of the middle so I will know that they are cards 
when you get through.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke handed them over without further 
parley. Mr. Spoopendyke ran the cards over hastily, 
and selecting the seven of hearts, placed it on the top 
of the pack. 

"Now, I will deal you some cards which you must 
watch,” said he ; and he dealt half a dozen, noting that 
the seven of hearts was on the bottom. 

" Now, my dear, if your card is in that pack pick it 
out and hand me the rest.” 

She handed them back to him and running off all 
but the last three, he laid them in a pile in the middle 
of the table. 

"Now take up one, but don’t look at it,” said Mr. 
Spoopendyke, with a smile. 

She took it up and laid it one side. 

"Now another,” said he, grinning. 

She repeated the operation. 

" Now, Mrs. Spoopendyke, I’ll trouble you to pick 
up that last card and turn it face up.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke did so. It was the jack of clubs. 

Mr. Spoopendyke gazed at her and at the card, while 
she sat waiting for the trick to go on. 


40 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


"Was that your card?” he demanded. 

"I don’t think so,” she answered, vaguely. 

" Don’t think so ! ” he thundered ; " don’t you 
know ? ” 

"Yes. It wasn’t my card, was it?” she answered, 
trembling a little. 

"Yes. Was it?” he snarled. "Do you know what 
card you picked out, or don’t you?” 

" Why I took up those and then that one you told me 
to in the pack was the one I said you made ” 

"Mrs. Spoopendyke, what card did you select? ” he 
asked, with awful sternness. 

" Why, it was the other one, the ace of queens ” 

"You picked out the ace of queens !” with fearful 
sarcasm. "I’d like to know where you found it. You 
must have reached your arm in up to the shoulder to 
have got hold of it. I’ll show you the card you picked 
out, Mrs. Spoopendyke ; it was the seven of hearts ; ” 
and he scurried through the pack three or four times, 
but didn’t lind it. Finally, he looked over the table 
and caught her attentively examining something in her 
lap. 

"What have you got there, eh?” he asked, sus- 
piciously. 

" Nothing, dear, but my card. You know you told 
me to pick it out and hand you back the balance — — ” 

Mr. Spoopendyke went straight to bed, with the re- 
mark that next season his wife would go to some well 
selected night school. 


HUNTING FOR A RECEIPT. 


41 


XIII. 

HUNTING FOR A RECEIPT. 

"Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, " you need n't 
hurry, but you’d better get ready pretty soon. Train 
don’t go for an hour and a half, and we ’ll have plenty of 
time to get there.” 

" I ’m all ready,” chirped Mrs. Spoopendyke, bustling 
about. "It’s hot and we want to take plenty of time.” 

" Trunks all packed ? Gripsacks ? Basket ? Every- 
thing packed?” 

" Yes, indeed,” tittered Mrs. Spoopendyke gleefully, 
"and I sent the trunk over by the expressman, so all 
you ’ve got to do is to check it at the station.” 

"That’s right,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, kissing his 
wife. "That’s the way to do things. Did you nail a 
card on the trunk ? ” 

" No, I” — 

" You did n’t ! How ’re we going to find it ? Expect 
that trunk ’s going to walk up and recognize us ; think 
that trunk ’s going to get up and make a speech and say 
it ’s Spoopendyke’s trunk ? ” 

" The expressman said it did n’t need any card. He 
gave me a receipt for it, and said that would do,” smiled 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" I don’t know but it will. I reckon he ’s right about 
that. Where ’s the receipt ?” asked Mr. Spoopendyke, 
cheerily. 


42 


JO?. AND MBS. SPOOPENDTKE. 


" Let’s see,” rejoined Mrs. Spoopendyke, putting her 
linger to her lips, "I put it somewhere. Now, I won- 
der ” — 

" Take your thumb out of your mouth. You did n’t 
stick it down your throat, did you? Don’t you know 
where you put it?” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke searched hurriedly through her 
pocket-book, and then looked in the bureau drawers. 

" Don’t be impatient, dear,” she said, hunting behind 
the clock and rummaging in the vases. "I put it some- 
where, I know.” 

" What sort of a thing was it, — a check ? What did 
it look like?” demauded Mr. Spoopendyke. 

"It was n’t a check. It was long and wide,” replied 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" So ’s a cow. Did he give you a cow ? Did it look 
like a cow? What d’ye do with it? Got it tied up in 
the yard ? ” 

" It was a regular receipt on a piece of paper,” sighed 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. " I had it when I commenced dress- 
ing. Now, what did I do with it ? ” 

" What d’ ye think you did with it? Hang it up on a 
nail? Did ye cook it? What ye standing therefor? 
Why don’t ye look for it ? S’pose the gasted thing ’s 
coming to you ? Did it have legs ? Was it on wheels ? ” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke bustled around and searched again 
just where she had searched before. 

" What d’ ye want to look there for ? Why don’t you 
stop and try to think what you did with it? Ain’t you 
got any sense at all, scarcely?” howled Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " S’pose the measly thing crawled into the clock ? 
Got any idea that it climbed over the side of two vases 


SOME DIFFICULTY ABOUT A DOG. 


43 


and hid itself in both ? Why don’t you put things where 
you can find them ? ” 

"I generally do,” sighed Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

"Oh! yes, you do. You always do, don’t you? 
When business gets dull I’m going to fill you up with 
little boxes and start a safe deposit with you. Have n’t 
you found it yet? How ’m I going to get at that trunk 
without a receipt? S’pose that dod-gasted railroad’s 
going to wait around like a fly on a doughnut while I 
swear to which is my trunk? Think that ’s the only 
trunk they ’ve got over there ? Here, you sit down here 
and let me look for that thing. You won’t find it any 
more ’n a heathen would find consolation in the Thirty- 
nine Articles. Sit down there while I take the house to 
pieces, ye hear me ! ” 

Mr. Spoopendyke jumped up and tore around like a 
green apple in a Sunday-school stomach. 

"Look here,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, pointing to the 
chair her husband had vacated. "There it is now. 
You’ve been sitting on it.” 


XI Y. 

SOME DIFFICULTY ABOUT A DOG. 

"Look here, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he 
led a huge and shaggy dog into his wife’s room, " I ’ve 
got a dog a friend of mine gave me. What do you think 
of him?” 

"Good gracious!” ejaculated Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
mounting a chair in dismay. " Is he mad ? ” 


44 


MR. AND MRS. S POO PEND YKE. 


"No, Mrs. Spoopendyke,” retorted her husband, ' he 
not only is n’t mad, but he is n’t a step-ladder either, nor 
a bird’s-eye view. He ’s a dog, and if you don’t get out 
of that chair he’ll probably bite your legs olf.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke sat down on her feet and eyed the 
brute with some trepidation. 

" Maybe he ’s got the hydrophobia,” she suggested by 
way of a hearty welcome. 

" P’r’aps he has,” agreed Mr. Spoopendyke, "but if he 
has he’s got it in his pocket. Come here, doggee, 
doggee, doggee ! ” and Mr. Spoopendyke snapped his 
fingers persuasively. 

" Why don’t he come when you call him ? ” asked 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, deeply interested in the proceed- 
ings. 

" Because you make such a dod-gasted noise you scare 
him,” explained Mr. Spoopendyke. "Come, doggee, 
doggee ! ” 

" I don’t quite like the way his tongue hangs out,” 
objected Mrs. Spoopendyke. "It don’t look natural.” 

" Maybe you don’t like the way his tail hangs out, 
either. P’raps you think that’s artificial, too. With 
your information about dogs you only need a slat bottom 
and a broken hinge to be a dog pound. Keep quiet 
now, while I teach him some tricks. Come here, dog- 
gee ! Sit up, sir ! ” 

The dog stretched out his fore legs, opened a mouth 
like a folding bedstead and growled. 

" What makes him do that?” asked Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, sitting on the back of the chair with her feet in 
the seat. 

"God! dod gast it!” howled Mr. Spoopendyke. 


SOME DIFFICULTY ABOUT A DOG. 


45 


" Who do you s’pose made him do it ? Think he works 
with a wire? Got a notion he goes by steam? He 
don’t. I tell ye, he’s alive, and he does it because 
that’s the bent of his measly mind. What are ye sit- 
ting up there for? Can’t ye see he don’t like it? Now, 
you sit still. Here doggee, doggee, good doggee, sit 
up and beg ! ” and Mr. Spoopendyke held up an 
admonitory finger. 

The dog eyed Mr. Spoopendyke with anything but 
an assuring glance. 

" He ’s hungry,” suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke. 
" Dogs do like that when they want to be taken down 
in the yard and fed.” 

" Of course you know,” grumbled Mr. Spoopendyke. 
" All you want is perfect ignorance on the part of the 
police to be a dog fight. Got anything in the house for 
him to eat?” 

"There’s some cold oyster stew and a piece of 
custard pie — ” 

" That ’s it ! ” raved Mr. Spoopendyke. " That ’s 
what ’s the matter with the dog. He wants pie ! You ’ve 
got it. You only need a committee and a fight over 
the proceeds to be a bench show. Where ’s the oysters ? 
Don’t you see that dog pining for oysters ? Have n’t ye 
got some -cold coffee for him ? Give him a lemon to stay 
his stomach ! ” and Mr. Spoopendyke jumped straight 
up in the air and landed on the dog. 

The dog made for the open air with a howl, and Mr. 
Spoopendyke gathered up twelve baskets of himself and 
looked after his prize. 

"Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke sooth- 
ingly, " he ’ll come back.” 


.46 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYICE. 


" If he does I ’ll kill him,” shouted Mr. Spoopendyke. 
" See what you ’ve done ! You have made me lose my 
dog and torn my trousers. Anything more about dogs 
you don’t know? Got any more intelligence to impart 
about dogs? All you want is a bucket of brandy 
around your neck and a snow-storm to be a monk of St. 
Bernard.” With which logical conclusion Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke began exploring his outlying districts for possible 
bites, while his wife speculated upon the salvation of 
the cold oysters and the custard pie by the sudden and 
eminently satisfactory disaffection of the dog. 


XV. 


THE FIRST SERMON. 

There were murmurings in Bismarck, 
When the dealer of a bank 
Announced that Parson Miller 
Had brought his gospel tank. 

And the mutterings grew louder, 
When a sign made it appear 
That, "Instead of faro, Sunday, 

There ’ll be Bible banging here ! ” 

For the good folk of Dakota 
Had peculiar notions of 
The uses of the Sabbath, 

^nd the doctrines of God’s love ; 


THE FIRST SERMON. 


And they held it an infraction 

Of theii rights, when some one came 
To bust their calculations, and 
Break up the Sunday game. 

They had a simple kind of faith 
That God looked after him, 

Who had the biggest stack of chips, 
And may have had a grim, 

Peculiar notion that there was 
Some power above them all, 

That helped protect the honest man 
Who failed to make a haul. 

Still, whether it was worth while 
For some one to come in 
Asking special intervention 
For those who could n’t win, 

Seemed to somewhat tear the town up, 
And opinions differed wide, 

Till Mr. Dennis Hannafin 
Went on the Parson’s side. 

And then the aspect altered, 

And the citizens agreed 
That he who raised objection 
Should be taken out and treed. 

The Sunday came, as Sundays will, 
Though men be good or bad, 

And never congregation y%a$ 

Like tl^at the Parson had* 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


The faro-table did the task 
Of pulpit. Each man sat 
Provided well with chips against 
The passing of the hat. 

For they felt they owed a duty 
To the place, as well as God, 

So they patronized the banker, 

Ere they passed beneath the rod. 

There may be better sermons 

Than the trembling Parson brought, 
Far more replete with poetry 
And gleaming gems of thought ; 

But the honest man did nobly, 

Though he played the hand alone, 

For he preached some good religion, 

And — the sermon was his own. 

He told them of a coming time 
When chips must be passed in, 

And begged them that they play so they 
Stood solidly to win. 

He told them of that fearful game 
Of agony and doubt, 

In which God’s foes chipped ii| the world 
And Jesus raised them out. 

And the congregation listened, 

With spirits somewhat dashed, 

As he pointed out the higher Bank 
Where human souls are cashed. 


THE FIB ST SERMON. 


49 


Finally he closed and said 
He had a little whim : 

He wanted them to sing, and more 
Than that, select the hymn. 

It is a solemn rule among 
The people of that band, 

Whatever game may be proposed 
To always take a hand. 

So they braced up for the struggle, 
Though it was a novel thing, 

And after consultation, 

They started in to sing. 

Perhaps no church collection 
Contains the hymn they sang, 

For they only knew " Whoa, Emma \ * 
And the very bottles rang. 

But there was a tone of earnestness 
Of feeling in the roar, 

That very few set songs of praise 
Had ever known before. 

And the Parson understood it, 

And had but little care, 

For he heard a something rising 
Above the words and air. 

And when a sheepish gentleman 
Betook him to explain, 

The Parson turned him down, and asked 
To hear the hymn again. 


50 


MR. AND MRS . SPOOPENDYKE . 


And once again " Whoa, Emma ! ” raised 
The lid from off the stove, 

And echoed from the bottles to 
The Golden Bar above. 

Which occasioned Mr. Hannafin 
To hazard the remark, 

That if angels liked good music, 

To cheese their own, and hark. 

And then the Parson’s battered hat 
Was passed among those wrecks, 

And silently the poorest even, 

Anteed up their checks. 

The Parson, all bewildered, asked 
What he should do with those, 

And learned that he might play ’em in, 
Or cash ’m as he chose. 

And Mr. Hannafin agreed, 

In case they were played in, 

To take the look-out chair himself, 

And double-bank a skin ; 

While if the Parson wanted cash, 

Why, waltz right up and plank ; 

For chips for cash and cash for chips, 
Was how he ran that bank. 

That was the first religion 

Ever preached in Bismarck town ; 

And now three goodly churches 
That early effort crown. 


TEMPORARILY MISLAID. 


51 


And each faro-table has a slit, 

In which each man has got 
To drop a part of what he wins, 
Which slit is called " God’s Pot.” 

And though, perhaps, religion 
Don’t make a heavy pull 
Upon the lives of those who play, 
The "Pot” is always full. 

And possibly, some future day, 
When checks are all cashed in, 
The men who built those churches 
Will find they stand to win. 


XVI. 

TEMPORARILY MISLAID. 

"Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, cheerfully, 
"be lively. It’s twenty minutes past ten, and we 
mustn’t be late at church. Most ready? ” 

" Yes, dear,” beamed Mrs. Spoopendyke, " I ’m all 
ready. Got everything ? ” 

"I think so. Hymn book, umbrella, and — where’s 
the prayer book ? I have n’t got the prayer book.” 

" Where did you leave it ? ” asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
turning over the volumes on the table hurriedly. 

" If I knew where I left it, I ’d strut right to that spot 
and get it,” retorted Mr. Spoopendyke. " 1 left it with 


52 


MB. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


you. Where did you put it? Can’t you remember! 
what you do with things V” 

" I have n’t seen it since last Sunday,” returned Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, faintly. " I know,” she continued, " per- 
haps it is at church.” 

"Perhaps it is,” mimicked Mr. Spoopendyke, "per- 
haps it got up early, took a bath and went ahead of us. 
Did you ever see a prayer book prowl off to church all 
alone ? Ever see a prayer book h’ist up its skirts and 
strike out for the sanctuary without an escort ? S’pose 
a prayer book knows the difference between a church 
and a ham sandwich? Where did you put it? ” 

" I mean, you may have left it in the pew rack. You 
know you did once,” suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" I did n’t anything of the sort. I brought it home 
and gave it to you. Where do you keep it 't What did 
you do with it? S’pose I’m going to swash around 
through that service without knowing whether they are 
doing the Apostles’ Creed or an Act of Congress ? 
Spring around and find it, can’t you? What are you 
looking there for? Don’t you kno'v the difference J 
between a prayer book and the Wandering Jew ? Find * 
it, can’t you ? ” 

" Never mind it, dear,” fluttered Mrs. Spoopendyke,! 
"I know all the responses, and I’ll help you along.” 

"Oh, yes, you know ’em all. What you don’t know 
about religion would n’t wad a gun. All you want is a 
bell and a board fence to be a theological seminary.] 
Think you can find that prayer book between now and 
the equinoctial? ” howled Mr. Spoopendyke. " Got any 
idea whether you sold the measly thing for china vases 
or stirred it into the wheat cakes ? Have I been chew- 


TEMPORARILY MISLAID. 


53 


ing divine grace all the morning ? Where ’s that prayer 
book ? Going to get that prayer book before the Reve- 
lations come to pass ? ” And Mr. Spoopendyke plunged 
around the room, tumbling books about and breathing 
heavily. 

" I don’t see the use of making such a fuss over a thing 
you don’t really need,” sobbed Mrs. Spoopendyke 
through her indignant tears. 

" Oh, you don’t,” raved Mr. Spoopendyke. " You 
don’t see any use in putting things where they belong, 
either, do you ? How d’ ye s'pose I ’m going to keep up 
with religion without a prayer book ? How d’ ye spose 
I’m going to know when it’s my turn to show what 
Christianity has done for me unless you can find that 
dod-gasted book between nowand the resurrection?” 
And Mr. Spoopendyke spun around on his heel like a 
top, and knocked over a Parian jar. 

" Wait a minute, my dear,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
looking at him earnestly. Then she went behind him 
and fished out the prayer book. 

"Got it, didn’t you,” he growled. "Had it all the 
time, I s’pose. Where was it any way?” 

" In your coat-tail pocket, dear.” And Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke jabbed the powder puff in her eyes, and stalked 
down stairs, leaving her liege to follow. 


54 


MB. AND MBS. SP 00 PEND YKE. 


XVII. 

SOME ITEMS ABOUT SNAKES. 

" Do you want some items about snakes ? ” asked an 
agricultural-looking gentleman of the Eagle's city edi- 
tor the other day. 

"If they are fresh and true,” responded the city 
editor. 

"Exactly,” replied the farmer. "These items are 
both. Nobody knows ’em but me. I got a farm down on 
the Island a piece, and there ’s lots of snakes on to it. 
Near the house is a pond about six feet deep. A week 
ago my little girl jumped into the pond, and would have 
drowned if it had ’nt been for a snake. The snake seen 
her, and went for her, and brought her ashore. The ( 
particular point about this item is the way he did it.” 

"How w.'is it?” asked the city editor. 

" It was a black snake, about thirty feet long, and he 
just coiled the middle of himself around her neck so she ; 
couldn’t swallow any water, and swum ashore with his 
head and tail. Is that a good item ? ” 

" First class.” 

" You can spread it out, you know. After they got 
ashore the girl patted the snake on the head, and it went 
off pleased as Punch. Ever since then he comes to the 
house regular at meal times, and she feeds him on pie. 
He likes pie. Think you can make anything out of that 
item?” 


SOME ITEMS ABOUT SNAKES. 


55 


” Certainly. Know any more?” 

" Yes. I got a baby six months old. He’s a boy. 
We generally set him out on the grass of a morning, and 
he hollers like a bull all day, at least he used to, but he 
don’t anymore. One morning we noticed he was n’t 
hollering, and wondered what was up. When we looked, 
there was a rattlesnake coiled up in front of him, scan- 
ning his features. The boy was grinning, and the snake 
was grinning. Bimeby the snake turned his tail to the 
baby, and backed his rattle right into the baby’s fist.” 

" What did the baby do?” 

" Why he just rattled that tail so you could hear it 
three quarters of a mile, and the snake lay there and 
grinned. Every morning we found the snake there, 
until one day a bigger snake came, and the baby 
played with his rattle just the same till the first snake 
came back. He looked thin, and I reckon he had been 
sick and sent the other snake to take his place. Will 
that do for an item ? ” 

" Immensely,” replied the city editor. 

" You can fill in about the confidence of childhood, 
and all that, and you might say something about the 
blue-eyed cherub. His name is Isaac. Put that in to 
please my wife.” 

" I ’ll do it. Any more snake items ? ” 

"Lemme see. You ’ve heard of hoop snakes ! ” 

" Yes, often.” 

"Just so. Not long ago we heard a fearful row in 
our cellar one night. It sounded like a rock blast, and 
then there was a and then things was quiet. When 
I looked in the morning I found the cider barrel had 
busted. But we did n’t lose much cider.” 


56 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" How did you save it ? ” 

” It seems that the staves had busted out, but before 
they could get away, four hoop snakes coiled around 
the barrel and tightened it up and held it together until 
we drew the cider off in bottles. That ’s the way we 
found ’em, and we’ve kept them around the house ever 
since. We ’re training ’em for shawl straps now. Does 
that strike you favorably for an item ? ” 

" Enormously,” responded the city editor. 

"You can fix it up so as to show how quick they was 
to get there before the staves were blown oft*. You 
can work in the details.” 

" Of course. I ’ll attend to all that. Do you think 
of any more ? ” 

" Ain’t you got enough? Lemme think. Oh, yes! i 
One Sunday me and my wife was going to church, and .! 
she dropped her garter somewhere. She told me abou/ 
it and I noticed a little striped snake running alon* 1 
side and listening to her. Bimeby he made a spring ] 
and just wound himself around her stocking, or trvjd 
to, but he did n’t fetch it.” 

" Why not? ” 

"He wasn’t quite long enough. He jump/' j down 
and shook his head and started oft*. We ha(? n't gone 
more ’n a quarter of a mile when we see him C' miug out 
of the woods just ahead of us. He was awfi i hot and 
tired, and he had another snake with him, tv ice as big 
as he was. They looked at my wife a mini te and said 
something to each other, and then the big snake went 
right to the place where the garter be] mged. He 
wrapped right around it, put his tail in hi ; mouth, and 
went to sleep. We got him yet. We uso him to hold 


SOME ITEMS ABOUT SNAKES. 


57 


the stovepipe together when we put the stove up. Is 
that any use as an item? ” 

" Certainly,” said the city editor. 

" You can say something about the first snake’s eyes 
for distances, and his intellectuality, when he found he 
wouldn’t go round. You know how to do that better 
than me.” 

" I ’ll give him all the credit he deserves. Can you 
tell us any more ? ” 

"I don’t call any to mind just at present. My wife 
knows a lot of snake items, but I forget ’em. By the 
way, though, I’ve got a regular living curiosity down 
on my place. One day my oldest boy was sitting on 
the back stoop doing his sums, and he could ’nt get ’em 
right. He felt something against his face, and there 
was a little snake coiled up on his shoulder and looking 
at the slate. In four minutes he had done all them 
sums. We’ve tamed him, so he keeps all our accounts, 
and he is the lightningest cuss at figures you ever seen. 
He ’ll run up a column eight feet long in three seconds. 
I would n’t take a reaper for him.” 

"What kind of a snake is he?” inquired the city 
editor, curiously. 

" The neighbors call him an adder.” 

"Oh, yes, yes ! ” said the city editor, a little discon- 
certed. "I’ve heard of the species. When did all 
these things happen ? ” 

" Along in the fore part of the spring, but I did n’t 
say anything about ’em, ’cause it was n’t the season for 
snake items. This is about time for that sort of thing, 
is n’t it ? ” 

"Yes,” chipped in the exchange editor, "you couldn’t 
have picked out a better time for snake stories.” 


58 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPEND YKE. 


XVIII. 

A FRIENDLY GAME OF CHECKERS. 

" Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as lie j 
drew on his slippers and settled himself for the even- 
ing, " if you will get the checker-hoard, I ’ll play you a, 
game — you ’re learning so rapidly that it ’s really a 
pleasure to try quits with you.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke giggled with delight, kissed her ; 
husband on the top of the head, and fluttered away to ;| 
find the board and checkers. 

"Which shall I take, the white or the red men?” she 
asked, as she plumped down in a rocker about a foot 
and a half lower than his easy-chair, and arranged the 
apparatus at an angle of fifty degrees. 

" I think you misapprehend my suggestion,” re- 
torted Mr. Spoopendyke. "I didn’t propose to go 
sliding down hill at this season. My idea was a game ; 
of checkers, and if you think those men are going to 
stand around on a board tipped up on one end, and 
wait to be moved, you ’re not thoroughly acquainted with 
their habits. There, can’t you hold it like that?” and 
Mr. Spoopendyke jerked his wife’s side of the board 
up to her chin and began arranging the white checkers ' 
on his rows. 

" Maybe I ’d better put a book under it,” recom- 
mended Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Or if you could lower 
your knees a little, it would come oven.” 


A FRIENDL Y GAME OF CHECKERS. 


59 


" Very likely,” replied Mr. Spoopendyke, "but my 
knees were n’t constructed with especial regard to 
checkers. They were put where they are and fastened, 

| and they won’t run up and down like a flag. If you 
! can’t hold up your side of the board we won’t play.” 

"Oh, yes; certainly,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke. 
j " Let ’s see, is it your move, or mine ?” And she jabbed a 
man right across the line out of the lower square of the 
double corner and gave the board a hitch to rest her arm. 

"What are you trying to play?” demanded Mr. 
/Spoopendyke. "Think this is a game of base-ball? 
1 Don’t you know you ’ve got to move cattecornered ? 
’T ain’t your move, anyway. Put that back. There. 
Now I ’ll move there.” 

" Oh ! I know you ’re going to jump me, you always 
do,” squealed Mrs. Spoopendyke, picking up the 
checker she had moved before and putting it in her 
mouth while she studied the prospect. " If I put it 
here you ’ll” — 

** Swallow it, why don’t ye? If ye don’t want it 
jumped, why don’t ye swallow it?” interrogated Mr. 
Spoopendyke. " Can’t ye leave the measly thing alone 
till ye get ready to move ? Put it down, I tell ye-” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke restored it to its square and kept 
her thumb on it so as not to lose her move. 

"If I put it there, can you jump?” she asked, wig- 
gling it around and finally drawing her hand away in 
jerks as if afraid to leave it. 

"Just watch and see,” grinned Mr. Spoopendyke, as 
he popped a man over it and gathered it in. 

" Now I ’ll move here,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke. " I 
don’t know, though. Perhaps I ’d better move here.” 
And she chased a man over half a dozen squares. 


60 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" Going to move in ’em all ? ” demanded Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " Think that man ’s triplets and goes in six places 
at once? Move it there. Now, let me see. Let me 
see.” And Mr. Spoopendyke began to whistle. 

Mrs. Spoopendyke glanced around to see that the 
pillow shams had not slid off, and then up at the curtains 
to see if they hung right, and then she turned to the 
board again and shoved a man into another square. 

"What ye doing?” howled Mr. Spoopendyke. 
"’T ain’t your move ! I ain ’t moved yet. Going to play 
this thing all alone ? Put him back and wait till I 
move.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke put it back with a sigh, and raised 
the board a little to get a rest for her elbow on her knee. 

" Hold it still, can’t, ye !” scowled Mr. Spoopendyke. 
" What d’ ye think this thing is, any way, a washboard? 
Well, it ain’t, and it ain’t a water pitcher, either. It’s 
a checker-box and wants to be held level. Now I ’ll 
move here,” he continued, not noticing that he left his 
king row open. 

" Then do I jump these two men and get a king ? ” 
inquired Mrs. Spoopendyke. " Of course I do. Crown 
me. I ’ve got the first king.” And Mrs. Spoopendyke 
chuckled hysterically. 

" No you ain’t, either. I didn’t mean that move. If 
you can’t play checkers without cackling like a hen 
you ’d better give it up. I ’ll take that back and move 
here ; now, so. Now you can move.” 

"Over here?” asked Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

"Certainly. That’s very good.” And her husband 
gobbled two men. 

" I did n’t see that, I ’d rather put it here,” she remon- 
strated. 


A FRIENDLY GAME OF CHECKERS. 


61 


"Too late now,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, peggingaway 
for the king row. "You should study your moves 
first.” 

"If I jump here I get another king,” said Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, plunging through an unguarded space. 

" What d’ ye want to tumble ’em all over for ? ” 
shrieked Mr. Spoopendyke. " Ain’t ye got any sense, 
scarcely ? You make more fuss over a measly king than 
most women over a baby. Where you jumping to? 
Dod gast it, don’t ye know it ’s my move ? Gimme 
back them men. What are you putting them there for? 
Can’t ye hold up that board straight ? What ails ye ? 
Here, this one goes there.” 

"No, it don’t,” reasoned Mrs. Spoopendyke. "I 
know” — 

" Oh ! of course you know. You got it all. All you 
want is a pair of hinges and speckled sides to be a 
checker-box. If I ever want to beat some good player 
I’ll put a washtub on your head and move you around 
for a king. Where ’s my men ? ” 

"I think they slid off,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
screwing herself around to look under her chair, and 
thereby losing the rest of the checkers. 

" Satisfied ? Are ye satisfied ? ” raved Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke, kicking the board under the table. " Got what 
ye wanted?” and he danced around on the checkers. 
" Can’t even play a game of checkers without making a 
dod-gasted fuss about it, can ye? I beat ye, anyway.” 
And Mr. Spoopendyke plunged into bed. 

"Never mind,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke to herself, as 
she took down her back hair, " I got a king and he 
didn’t quite wash me, as he calls it, anyhow.” 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOBENDYKE. 


62 


XIX. 

IS SEARCH OF THE ARISTOCRACY. 

"What I want to see,” said a Denver man, as he 
alighted from the train at Manhattan Beach, Friday < 
afternoon, — " what I want to see is some of your boasted 4 
civilization. I ain’t much on the swell myself, but I 
want to see some top-shelf society. That ’s what I want. 1 
Now, just parade your Astors and your Vanderbilts and 
your Jay Goulds and your Knickerbockers and the other I 
ancients right before my presence. Don’t be any way f 
skeered of me. These clothes only cost fifteen dollars, * 
and I’m no way stuck up. I want to see some tone. ] 
Cut me a thick slice of high life. I come a long piece ] 
to see the fashionables, and if they’re in condition just 1 
pull off the blankets and trot ’em forward.” 

" Is there anything I can do for you ? ” asked the man- y 
ager, courteously, noticing the crowd gathering. 

" Right you can, stranger. I come more ’n a bushel 
of miles to see this climate, and I want the attractions j 
spread so I can examine the lay-out. I can throw some j 
money myself, but what I want to see is style. Tell 
’em not to hide on my account. Just walk some of the 1 
dignitaries up and down before me a couple of times, j 
I want to see their points. Fetch me out a couple | 
of well-matched high steppers and give ’em their 1 
heads.” 

"All the people you see around you, sir, are first-class 1 


IN SEARCH OF THE ARISTOCRACY. 


63 


people. They move in our highest circles and belong to 
the aristocracy,” explained the manager. 

f 'Are you giving it to me straight, partner ? All these 
fellows way-ups? Who’s the philosopher with his 
breeches tucked in his socks?” 

" That is a Yale young gentleman, home on a vaca- 
tion.” 

" I don’t want that kind. Show me a high daddy, one 
of ’em that gets their name in the papers for going to 
whooping weddings and is called the elight. Pick me 
out some Astors. That’s the trout I ’m throwing for.” 

" I don’t think any of Mr. Astor’s family are here to- 
day. That stout gentleman, with side whiskers, belongs 
to one of the first families in Yew York. He is a very 
popular young man, and leads in the Germans.” 

"Ain’t big enough. Haven’t you got a couple of 
head of Vanderbilts, or a Jay Gould or so anywheres? 
You see, stranger, I’ve read about those fellows, and 
I ’d like to greet ’em with cordiality. What I want is to 
wobble fins with the satin lined. That Yale man and 
the boss leg slinger in the Dutch fandango ain’t new. 
We see them home when they string for tourists. I’m 
on to them, but what I want is the balloons, the soar- 
ers. Throw your pickaxe, stranger, and see if the wash 
don’t pan better dirt. Strikes me your rock don’t 
assay pretty well this evening. Where’s the mob?” 

" These are the best people I know of to-day,” said 
the manager in despair. "Mr. Vanderbilt is not here, 
nor is Mr. Gould.” 

"Ain’t you got any Knickerbockers on draught? 
Don’t you keep the best article in stock? You ’d make 
out to starve in Denver, if you was n’t interfered with, 


64 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


partner. When a man throws himself for a hotelier in 
those parts, he keeps the high-toned population right 
out in front and shored up behind. You don’t seem 
to have much experience in running a beef-a-la-mode 
ranche. Just begun, haven’t you? If I was in your 
place I ’d have them Goulds and Knickerbockers and 
Vanderbilts and Astors ranged right along the front 
edge of that back stoop spitting at a chip for drinks, 
and the fust one that broke gravel would pay his bar 
bill or go home bareheaded ; now, you hear me. What 
you want, stranger, is enterprise. All you ’ve got is a 
shed and some water, and if your liquor ain’t any bet- 
ter ’n your judgment, I ’m going back dry.” 

*' You will find everything first-class here, I think,” 
argued the manager. " We aim ” — 

"Just so, chief, but you don’t hit. You aim too low. 
You ’ve got room here to hold the biggest bug that ever 
straddled a blind, but there is n’t a card out higher ’n an 
eight spot. I reckon you play pool without the fif- 
teen.” 

"Would you like to try something?” asked the 
manager, anxious to disperse the grinning crowd. 

" You might fetch me and these gentlemen a little tan- 
bark, if it ’s good. I don’t want any stock where the 
shareholders are responsible for the debts, but if you ’ve 
got some liquid symphony in Q major, I ’ll wrap up a 
cartridge with you, stranger.” 

"Join me in the bar-room,” said the manager, ner- 
vously. 

" Good stake off for a junction. Gentlemen, me and 
the engineer are going for the doxology. Will you jine 
us ? ” 


THE DIFFICULTIES OF A WITNESS. 


65 


They " jined,” and the manager ordered refreshment 
and left, despite the entreaties of the gentleman from 
Denver that he would " inti^duce him to the ladies, such 
as they were, and he would forego the top tifters until 
he (the manager) had run along the vein to the prospect 
of a paying clean-up.” 


XX. 


THE DIFFICULTIES OF A WITNESS. 

" You must get around pretty early in the morning, 
my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, " because I’m going 
to be a witness in court.” 

" Good gracious ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
" what have you been doing ? ” 

" What d’ ye s’pose I ’ve been doing ? I ’ve heard 
some things in a law case, and I’ve got to swear to 
them. You can’t have a law case without witnesses, 
and I ’ve got to be one to-morrow ; so you hustle out 
in the morning and get my breakfast.” 

" They can’t do anything to you, can they?” inquired 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, nervously. 

"If I ain’t there in time they can send me to jail,” 
responded Mr. Spoopendyke, ominously, " and you ’d 
better get me ready in time if you don’t want to lose 
me.” And Mr. Spoopendyke flopped into bed and went 
to sleep. 

Mrs. Spoopendyke turned the clock ahead two hours, 
arranged her hair, and sat down to speculate on the 


66 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


chances of waking up at the proper moment. At first 
she concluded to stay up ali night, but she began to get 
sleepy, and reflecting that if she fixed her mind on the 
hour she wanted to rise she’d be sure to wake up, she 
went to bed and to sleep simultaneously. 

At half past four she roused up with a terrified start. 

"Wake up, my dear ! ” she exclaimed, to her hus- 
band. "You’ve got to go a witnessing in a case this 
morning. Hurry up, or they’ll put you in jail.” 

" Wall ! ” rejoined Mr. Spoopendyke. " What did 
the heed get mixed there with — poof — ah!” And 
Mr. Spoopendyke was sound asleep again. 

" You must get right up and go to court,” said Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, firmly. "You know something about a 
law court and you must wake up right off*.” 

"What’s the matter?” propounded Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke, sitting up and glaring around him. " What day 
of the month is this ? Who called Spoopendyke ? I 
ain’t slept a wink.” And Mr. Spoopendyke fell back on 
his pillow. 

"You know you must go to the case,” continued Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. " You ’ve been appointed a wdtness and 
you must go and swear about it. Wake up, or they 
will arrest you.” 

" What case?” demanded Mr. Spoopendyke. "Who ’s 
arrested? Can’t you let a man alone just as he is 
getting in a doze? What ’s the matter with you, any- 
way ? ” 

" You wanted to get up early about some court. 
Come, get up, now, or they’ll send you to jail.” And 
Mrs. Spoopendyke got up and lighted the gas, and be- 
gan dropping on her skirts. 


THE DIFFICULTIES OF A WITNESS. 67 

. "Who’s, going to court?” asked Mr. Spoopendyke, 
sitting up in bed. "Where’s the court? Think any 
court wants me at five o’clock in the morning? ” 

" It ’s about a law case,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
cheerfully. " You know you are a witness. To think 
that 1 should live to be the wife of a witness ! ” And 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, firmly impressed that it was some- 
thing in the nature of a foreign mission, gazed admir- 
ingly upon her husband. 

" Dod gastthe law ease !” howled Mr. Spoopendyke, 
now thoroughly mad., " D’ ye think a law case goes 
prowling around all night like a policeman? Got an 
idea that a judge is going to strap the court house on 
his back and fetch it up here at daylight to try a law 
case ? ” 

" But you said you wanted to get up early,” reasoned 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, " and its pretty early now.” 

"D’ye s’pose I wanted to get up at midnight to prac- 
tise?” propounded Mr. Spoopendyke. "Think a law 
case is like a church sociable, the first man there gets 
the best supper? P’r’aps you were afraid if I didn’t 
start early I would n’t get a seat. The measly court 
don’t meet till ten o’clock, dod gast it; and here you 
wake me up at four! What d’ye s’pose a witness is, 
anyhow?” shouted Mr. Spoopendyke, getting madder 
and madder. "Think he’s a dark lantern, nnd goes 
around with his slide turned and the smoke coming out 
of the top ? D’ ye know what a court is ? ” 

" Why, yes,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, " a court is a 
place where they hang people. Mrs. Meierhof ” — 
"That’s it! You struck it, first clip!” sputtered 
Mr. Spoopendyke. " With that information, all you 


68 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


want is a plug hat and an adjournment to be a lawyer. 
If I had your intelligence and a bald head, I ’d hire out 
for a judge at board wages. I tell ye, a court is where 
they try cases about lands and licking people and con- 
tracts and — and — and divorce cases. Yes, indeed, 5 ' 
continued Mr. Spoopendyke, solemnly, "they try di- 
vorce cases about women waking their husbands up in 
the dead of night.” 

" What kind of a law case are you going to witness ? 5 ' 
inquired Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

"A daylight case! You understand that? At ten 
o’clock, and not live. Get that through your head? 
Think you can remember ten o’clock? If you can’t, 
can yon remember eleven, or noon?” 

"Do they have cases every hour?” queried Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. 

" Of course they do. They leave every fifteen min- 
utes, like a ferry-boat, and if I can’t catch one case, I ’ll 
witness in another. Got it now? Only they don’t run 
as often from midnight to six. Begin to see into it ? ” 

"I think I do,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, ruminating. 
"I was thinking that if one started about three o’clock, 
I ’d go and witness with you.” 

" Oh, you ’d make a witness ! ” proclaimed Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. "With your capacity lor observation and 
ability to recollect, you ’d only want to appear twice to 
absorb the whole witness business.” And with this re- 
flection, Mr. Spoopendyke went back to his slumbers. 

At ten o’clock sharp his wife called him and notified 
him of the hour. 

" How ’m I going to get there in time?” he howled. 
"Why did n’t you call me before? Want me - sent to 


THE DIFFICULTIES OF A WITNESS. 


69 


State prison for contempt? Want to get rid of me, 
don't you?” And Mr. Spoopendyke darted into his 
clothes. 

" Don’t you want some breakfast, my dear ? ” inquired 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, tenderly. 

"No, I don’t want any measly breakfast ! ” he shouted. 
" Did n’t I tell ye I was a witness at ten, and now it ’s 
half past ? Think a man is appointed a witness during 
good behavior? S’pose I hold the office till my suc- 
cessor is appointed?” And Mr. Spoopendyke plunged 
down stairs and out of the house. 

"I only did what he told me to,” sighed Mrs. Spoop- 
endyke, wetting a piece of court plaster and patching 
up a hole in her silk dress. " Though I don’t see any 
use of a man being a witness if he can’t be a witness 
when he wants to. If I were a man,” she continued, as 
she flopped down on the floor to change her boots, " I 'd 
get appointed by the President, and then I could attend 
to business or not, as I liked.” With which sage reflec- 
tion Mrs. Spoopendyke pulled out her husband’s socks 
and began to sew wens three inches in diameter on the 
heels. 


70 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


XXI. 

THE LOST SHIRT STUD. 

"Mr dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, feeling up the 
chimney, " have you seen my gold collar button ? ” 

" I saw it the day you bought it,” answered Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, cheerily, " and I thought it very pretty. 
Why do you ask? ” 

"’Cause I’ve lost the measly thing,” responded Mr. 
Spoopendyke, running the broom handle up into the cor- 
nice and shaking it as if it were a carpet. 

"You don't suppose it’s up there, do you?” asked 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. " Where did you leave it?” 

" Left it in my shirt. Where do you suppose I ’d 
leave it; in the hash?” And Mr. Spoopendyke tossed 
over the things in his wife’s writing-desk and looked out 
of the window after it. 

"Where did you leave your shirt?” asked Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. 

" W here did I leave my shirt ? Where do you sup- 
pose I left it ? Where does a man generally leave his 
shirt, Mrs. Spoopendyke ? Think I left it in the ferry- 
boat? Got an idea I left it at prayer meeting, have n’t 
you? Well, I didn’t. 1 left it off, Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
there’s where I left it. I left it off. Hear me?” And 
Mr. Spoopendyke pulled the winter clothing out of the 
cedar chest that had. n’t been unlocked for a month. 


THE LOST SIIIBT STUD. 


71 


"Where’s the shirt now?” persisted Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke. 

" Where do yon suppose it is ? Where do you ima- 
gine it is ? I ’ll tell you where it is, Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
it s gone to Bridgeport as a witness in a land suit. Idea ! 
Ask a man where his shirt is ! You know I have n’t 
been out of the room since I came home last night and 
took it off.” And Mr. Spoopendyke sailed down stairs 
and raked the fire out of the kitchen range, but did n’t 
find the button. 

" Maybe you lost it on the way home,” suggested Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, as her husband came up, hot and angry, 
and began to pull a stuffed canary to pieces to see if the 
button had got inside. 

"Oh, yes! Very likely ! I stood up against a tree 
and lost it. Then I hid behind a fence so I wouldn't 
see it. That’s the way it was. If I only had your 
head, Mrs. Spoopendyke, I ’d turn loose as a razor-strop. 
I don’t know anything sharper than you are.” And Mr. 
Spoopendyke got up in a chair and clutched a handful 
of dust off the top of the wardrobe. 

"It must have fallen out,” mused Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

"Oh, it must, eh ! It must have fallen out ! Well, 
I declare, I never thought of that. My impression was 
that it took a buggy and drove out, or a balloon and 
hoisted out.” And Mr. Spoopendyke crawled behind the 
bureau and commenced tearing up the carpet. 

"And if it fell out, it must be somewhere near where 
he left his shirt. Now he always throws his shirt on 
the lounge, and the button is under that.” 

A moment’s search established the infallibility of Mrs. 
Spoopendyke’s logic. 


72 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


"Oh, yes! Found it, didn’t you?” panted Mr. 
Spoopendyke, as he bumped his head against the bu- 
reau and finally climbed to a perpendicular. "Per- 
haps you’ll fix my shirts so it won’t fall out any more, 
and maybe you’ll have sense enough to mend that 
lounge, now it has made so much trouble. If you only 
’tended to the house as I do to my business, there ’d 
never be any difficulty about losing a collar button.” 

"It was n’t my fault — ” began Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" Was n’t, eh ! Have you found that coal bill you ’ve 
been looking for since March?” 

"Yes.” 

"Have, eh! Now, where did you put it! Where 
did you find it ? ” 

" In your overcoat pocket.” 


xxn. 

A PHILOSOPHICAL EXPLANATION. 

A few days ago a Boston girl, who had been attending 
the School of Philosophy at Concord, arrived in Brook- 
lyn on a visit to a seminary chum. After canvassing 
thoroughly the fun and gum-drops that made up their 
education in the seat of learning at which their early 
scholastic efforts were made, the Brooklyn girl began 
to inquire into the nature of the Concord entertainment. 

" And so you are taking lessons in philosophy. How 
do you like it?” 


A PHILOSOPHICAL EXPLANATION. 


73 


"Oh, it’s perfectly lovely! It’s about science you 
know, and we all just dote on science.” 

" It must be nice. What is it about ?” 

" It’s about molecules as much as anything else, and 
molecules are just too awfully nice for anything. If 
there’s anything I really enjoy, it’s molecules?” 

" Tell me about them, my dear. What are mole- 
cules ? ” 

" Oh, molecules ! They are little wee things, and it 
takes ever so many of them. They are splendid things ! 
Do you know, there ain’t anything but what’s got mole- 
cules in it. And Mr. Cook is just as sweet as he can 
be, and Mr. Emerson too. They explain everything 
so beautifully.” 

" How I ’d like to go there !” said the Brooklyn girl, 
enviously. 

"You’d enjoy it ever so much. They teach pro- 
toplasm too, and if there is one thing perfectly heavenly 
it’s protoplasm. I really don’t know which I like best, 
protoplasm or molecules.” 

" Tell me about protoplasm. I know I should adore 
it.” 

" ’Deed you would. It ’s just too sweet to live. You 
know it ’s about how things get started, or something of 
that kind. You ought to hear Mr. Emerson tell about 
it. It would stir your very soul. The first time he 
explained about protoplasm there was n’t a dry eye in 
the house. We named our hats after him. This is an 
Emerson hat. You see the ribbon is drawn over the 
crown and caught with a buckle and a bunch of flowers. 
Then you turn up the side with a spray of forget-me- 
nots. Ain’t it just too sweet? All the girls in the 
school have them.” 


74 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" How exquisitely lovely ! Tell me some more 
science.” 

" Oh ! I almost forgot about differentiation. I am 
really and truly in love with differentiation. It’s dif- 
ferent from molecules and protoplasms, but it’s every 
bit as nice. And Mr. Cook ! You should hear him go 
on about it ! I really believe he ’s perfectly bound up 
in it. This scarf is the Cook scarf. All the girls wear 
them, and we named them after him just on account of 
the interest he takes in differentiation.” 

" What is it, anyway ? ” 

"This is mull trimmed with Languedoc lace” — 

" I don’t mean that — that other.” 

"Oh, differentiation ! ain’t it sweet? It’s got some- 
thing to do with species. It ’s the way you tell one hat 
from another, so you ’ll know which is becoming. And 
we learn all about ascidians, too. They are the di- 
vinest things ! I ’m absolutely enraptured with asci- 
dians. If I had only an ascidian of my own, I would n’t 
ask anything else in the world.” 

"What do they look like, dear? Did you ever see 
one?” asked the Brooklyn girl, deeply interested. 

" Oh, no ; nobody ever saw one except Mr. Cook 
and Mr. Emersou, but they are something like an oys- 
ter with a reticule hung on its belt. I think they are 
just heavenly.” 

" Do you learn anything else- besides all these ? ” 

" Oh, yes. We learn about philosophy and logic and 
those common things like metaphysics, but the girls 
don’t care anything about those. We are just in ecsta- 
sies over differentiation and molecules, and Mr. Cook 
and protoplasms, and ascidians and Mr. Emerson, and 


TV THE SURF. 


75 


I really don’t see why they put in those vulgar branches. 
If anybody beside Mr. Cook and Mr. Emerson had done 
it, we should have told him to his face that he was too 
terribly, too awfully mean.” 

And the Brooklyn girl Avent to bed that night in the 
dumps, because fortune had not vouchsafed her the ad- 
vantages enjoyed by her friend, while the Boston girl 
dreamed of seems; an.ascidian chasing a molecule over 
a differentiated back fence with a club for telling a pro- 
toplasm that his youngest sister had so many freckles 
on her nose that they made her cockeyed. 


XXIII. 

IN THE SURF. 

" Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he 
stepped out of his bathing house, and thumped on the 
door of the one occupied by Mrs. Spoopendyke, " are 
you ready? We must hurry into the water and out 
again or we won’t get through in time for dinner.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke emerged, bent almost double and 
shivering with the cold. 

" Is n’t it rather chilly ? ” she asked. 

"Not at all, Mrs. Spoopendyke, not at all ; the air is 
rather cool, but the water is warm. If you are going 
with me you want to move along.” 

As they reached the beach, Mr. Spoopendyke left his 
wife and boldly strode into the surf, A wave broke 


76 


MR. AND MRS . SPOOPENDYKE. 


over him, filling his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth, and 
then he strode out. 

" What ’re ye standing there for, eh?” he demanded. 
" What do ye take yourself for ; a lighthouse ? Did ye 
comedown here to take a bath, or are ye waiting for 
some ship to tie up to you ? What *s the matter with 
you, anyway ? ” 

" I ’m afraid of the waves,” whimpered Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, " they ’s so big.” 

"Oh, they’re too big for you, ain’t they?” retorted 
Mr. Spoopendyke. " Wait till I get a man to saw off 
a little one. Better get measured for one to suit, 
had n’t you ? It ’s the big waves you want, I tell you. 
Look here ! ” And Mr. Spoopendyke marched boldly into 
the sea again. He turned his face toward the shore and 
beckoned to his wife. Another wave caught him and 
landed him high and dripping on the beach. 

" Why did n’t ye come when I called ye ? What d’ ye 
want to make me walk all the way up here after you 
for?” shrieked Mr. Spoopendyke. " Are ye waiting to 
be launched, like a ship? Can’t ye walk as far as that? 
IV hat are ye hoisting up the legs of your pants for? 
They ain’t skirts. Now, look at me. See how I go in, 
and you follow nie when I beckon to you. Watch me 
now.” 

Mr. Spoopendyke plunged in and swashed around a 
few minutes in safety, but the treacherous water was 
biding its time. Another wave caught him and rolled 
him over, pumped itself into his stomach, drew him un- 
der, whirled him around and finally deposited him, howl- 
ing, on the sand. 

"Got most ready to get in?” he jerked out, as he 


IN THE SURF. 


77 


climbed up himself and assumed a perpendicular. 

Think I ’m going to slam around all day like a water- 
spout, waiting for you? What did you come here 
for? Find any fun standing there like a soda-water 
sign ? Why don’t you get in the water, if you Te going 
to? Come on now.” 

" I ’m afraid,” snivelled Mrs. Spoopendyke. " If I go 
in I know I will be drowned.” 

"No you won’t get drowned, either. Can’t you 
hold on to me? What did you put on that shirt and 
trousers for if you meant to get drowned ? What are 
you doing around here? Now, when I get in again, 
you come along or else you go home.” 

Mr. Spoopendyke plunged into the surf, but as he 
came up he missed the rope. For a second or two he 
sprawled around and then began to yell. Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke eyed him for a moment, and then her fear for him 
overcame her fears for herself, and with a yell she 
dashed in and hauled him out by the hair. 

" Dod gast the water,” choked Mr. Spoopendyke, 
"I’m full of the measly stuff. So ye got in, did n’t ye ? 
Let go my hair, will ye? What d’ye think you are, 
anyway, a steam barber’s shop ? Going to let go that 
hair some* time ? ” But frightened out of all reason Mrs. 
Spoopendyke clung still, and hauled Mr. Spoopendyke 
to his bathing house. 

"Oh, if I iiad n’t saved you ! ” she sobbed. 

" Oh, yes, you saved me, did n’t you?” sneered Mr. 
Spoopendyke. "All you want is four air-tight com- 
partments and two sets of thole pins to be a patent life 
raft. Going to let go of that hair?” 

And as she released him they went to their separate 
compartments. 


78 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


XXIV. 

ABE WALLACE’S LOVE. 

AFTER BRET HARTE. 

"What’s er matter wid yer?” demanded Abe Wal- 
lace, with a not unnatural petulance under the circum- 
stances. " What er ye lingerin’ around that visage er 
mine for? Can’t yer rasp that countenance?” 

Obviously he could n’t For nearly an hour he had 
strapped his razors and mowed diligently, but barber 
though he was of a thousand, barber extraordinary to 
Leaping Antelope Run, he seemed to make no headway 
against Abe’s bristling badge of manhood. 

"If yer razors won’t cut, shoot ’em off. Ye’ar me? 
Shoot ’em off.” And the handsome, sunburned miner 
composed himself for the novel operation. 

" Is the barber at home ? ” asked a low, sweet, musical 
voice, entering the door at that moment. 

He started. No yellow water running from his pan 
had ever looked as sweet to him as that voice. It per- 
colated him, and he arose from the chair a new man. 
The rough life passed away from him. The crust 
formed by his habits and hardened by his surroundings 
was broken. 

"Permit me, madam, to assure you that this indi- 
vidual before you is the barber,” said Abe ; and his new 
dignity sat easily upon him and seemed a part of him. 


ABE WALLACE'S LOVE. 


79 


" I am 011 way from Boston to the Sandwich Isl- 
ands,” said the young girl, quietly, " and our carriage 
broke down. I thought I would improve the opportu- 
nity and have my hair banged. Oh ! no, no,” she ex- 
claimed, as Abe gallantly drew forth a thousand-dollar 
draft on New York. "Not for the world. I’ve six 
millions of dollars, not only in my own right, but in 
my pocket. I will pay for any service.” 

As the barber proceeded with his task, Abe walked 
the shop nervously. A presage of danger oppressed 
him. The chestnut curls on his forehead grew damp 
with anxiety. He knew life, in his rough way, and he 
knew barbers. The fair young girl would be no match 
for the frontier hairdresser, if the worst should come. 
And why should it not come? Had she not millions in 
her pocket ? He glanced at the tiny feet planted squarely 
and firmly on the stool before her, and recognized char- 
acter. He knew nothing of Boston, but he understood 
feet. 

"And do you live in this funny place, te he?” asked 
the girl, smiling at Abe’s reflection in the glass. 

" I do,” sighed Abe. " Misfortunes have cast my bark 
of life high upon this barren shore, and left me with 
only the shelter the sea- weeds afford.” 

" Te he ; how odd. Ouch ! ” 

But Abe grasped him and laid him upon the floor. 
The barber had made a dive for the dainty pocket and 
had failed. 

Leaping Antelope Run was aroused. Such an attack 
found no apologists among the wild, rough miners. 
Whatever they might be inherently, they would tolerate 
nothing of the kind in the barber. 


80 


MR. AjS/D MRS. SPOOPEMDYKE. 


" Away to the dull thud ! ” demanded one, more intel- 
ligent than the rest. And they echoed the cry till the 
moonlit air was shivered and the beams crept away con- 
vulsively. They may have expected him to beg, but he 
eyed them sternly. 

"Oh, my! what will they do with him?” asked the 
beauty with one eye. She had no need to speak. The 
thrill of that eye struck a chord in Abe Wallace. 

" They ’ll sprain his neck, darling,” murmured Wallace 
in tender accents. This feeling was new to him, but he 
understood it. 

" Gracious ! and may I see him ? ” whispered she with 
the other eye. 

Abe’s answer was lost in the sullen roar of the crowd. 

Out under the grand old trees that fringed the mines ; 
out under the whisper of the leaves ; out through the 
shadows. The winds swept down from the Sierras ; 
velvet winds, but pitiless. They shook sweet voices 
out of their satin garments, but not a pleading tone for 
that human barber, soon to be neither barber nor 
human. 

The rope was around his neck. Willing hands were 
ready. A cloud floated across the face of the moon, 
but she struggled from behind it, held by the horror of 
the scene. 

" Hold ! ” commanded Abe. And then addressing the 
barber, he asked, " You are justice of the peace, are 
you not?” 

"I am,” responded the condemned in low, steady 
tones. 

" Then marry us,” said Wallace, drawing the Boston 
girl’s arm within his own. 


ABE WALLACE’S LOVE. 


81 


"You do take this woman for your wedded wife ? ” 
asked the barber, with a strange glitter in his eye. 

" I do,” responded Abe. 

"You do take this man for your wedded husband?” 
inquired the barber with a peculiar smile. 

" Te, he ; I suppose so, te, he ! ” whispered the 
musical voice. 

" Then I pronounce you man and wife. Go to the 
devil.” 

The rope tightened, but as he went up the barber 
uttered a wild, demoniac laugh. 

Then with the shadow of the Sierras gathering around 
him, he hung dead. 

Try as he might, Abe could not shake off the influence 
of that laugh. It was a ghost in his life. 

" My God ! ” he screamed as he sprang from his seat 
a day or two afterward. "I understand it now.” 

"Understand what, love?” asked his beautiful bride, 
looking up from the bite of an apple. 

" I know why he laughed. I know why the barber 
laughed with his dying breath,” he moaned. 

"Gracious goodness! What was it for?” she de- 
manded with dimpling smiles. 

" Because he died without giving us a marriage cer- 
tificate.” 

With a wild shriek the Boston girl sank dead at his 
feet. 

The barber was avenged. 


82 


MB. AND MBS. SFOOPENDYKE . 


XXV. 

NOT ALTOGETHER SATISFACTORY. 

"But what I can’t understand,” said Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke argumentatively, after her husband had carefully 
explained to her all about the Chinese letter, 'Svhat 
I don’t understand is, if Mr. Garfield says he didn’t 
send the letter, how did Mr. Morey get it?” 

" He did n’t get it, they say,” returned Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " They claim that Morey never saw or heard of 
it. Don’t you see?” 

" Perfectly. But who got it ? If it was mailed to 
Mr. Morey, how could anybody else get it? If Mr. 
Garfield should write a letter to me, how would a news- 
paper get hold of it ? ” 

"Well, if he ever does, they ’ll know it. Can’t ye 
understand anything at all, scarcely? The Democrats 
say that Mr. Garfield wrote the letter, and the Republi- 
cans say he did n’t.” 

" What do the Greenbackers say ? That would be 
important — ” 

" Dod gast the Greenbackers !” retorted Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. "What have they got to do with it? The 
question is whether Mr. Garfield wrote it.” 

"I don’t see why he didn’t* if Mr. Morey got it. 
Now if Mr. Morey had n’t got it, there might be some 
question ; but ” — 

"What’s the matter with you?” demanded Mr. 


NOT ALTOGETHER SATISFACTORY. 


83 


Spoopendyke. " What are ye thinking with, your 
elbows? If Mr. Garfield didn’t send it, how could 
Morey get it? S’pose he went fishing and caught it 
like an eel ? ” 

"That’s the point,” conceded Mrs. Spoopendyke. 
" But if Mr. Morey did get it, who sent it? He must 
have got it, because it was directed to him.” 

"That settles it,” groaned Mr. Spoopendyke. "No- 
body thought of that before. You ’ve got the whole 
postal system in a teaspoon. If somebody would fit 
you up with pigeon-holes and an iron safe you ’d only 
need to be assessed ten per cent by a campaign com- 
mittee to be a post-office. If Mr. Garfield never sent 
that letter, of course Morey never got it. Ain’t that 
plain ? If he did get it, then the chances afe that Mr. 
Garfield wrote it. Can ye see that ? ” 

" That ’s just what I said. Now, if Mr. Morey did n’t 
get it, how did the newspapers get hold of it? Did 
Mr. Garfield send it to the newspaper?” 

"Oh, didn’t he?” howled Mr. Spoopendyke. "He 
took it around himself, and sprained his leg doing it. 
Oh ! you’ve struck it. It took your logic to fetch out 
the facts. With your metaphysics you only want a red 
and green light to be a drug store. The Republicans 
say that Garfield did n’t write it or send it, and Morey 
never got it or saw it. Can you get that through your 
head? Is there room in your skull for that idea? ” 
"Plenty,” rejoined Mrs. Spoopendyke. " But don’t 
the Democrats say that Mr. Garfield did write it and 
Mr. Morey did get it ? They may know as much about 
it as the Republicans, and then they ’ve got the letter to 
prove it. If they did n’t have the letter it would be dif- 


84 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


ferent, and it shows that it went to Mr. Morey. Now, 
the only thing is whether Mr. Morey was a Democrat or 
Republican. If he was — ” 

" Are ye an idiot? Have ye got to go to night school 
to be a fool ? Don’t you know Morey ’s dead ? He 
ain’t Republican or Democrat either ; he ’s an angel, if 
he ’s had luck. He left that letter among his papers, 
and his wife gave it out for publication.” 

" That ends it,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke. " If his wife 
gave it out, I know he never got it. That ’s just the 
way with some women. Always getting their poor 
dead husbands in trouble. She ought to be ashamed. 
And so Mr. Garfield ain’t to be President.” 

"Do you know what you want?” shouted Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " You want a high chimney and a gravelled walk 
to be a lunatic asylum. Who says he won’t be Presi- 
dent ? Why can’t he be President ? ” 

" If he did n’t write the letter how can he ? ” argued 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" What do you suppose the letter was, a measly flower- 
pot? Think it was a shot tower? What d’ye s’pose 
it was any way ? ” 

" Why, his letter of acceptance, was n’t it? Wasn’t 
it something about his nomination?” 

"No, it wasn’t it! ” sneered Mr. Spoopendj'ke. "It 
was a confession that he was old man Bender. That ’s 
what it was. It laid the blame of knocking Nathan’s 
brains out with Charley Ross on George Washington — 
that’s what it was. Got it now? Think you can talk 
about it like a human being another time ? ” And Mr. 
Spoopendyke shot out of the house. 

" Well, well,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she held the 


AN ESTEEMED CONTEMPORARY. 


85 


bedspread up, and figured on whether she should turn 
it over or have it washed, " I ’m glad I ’m beginning to 
understand politics. But if Mr. Garfield didn’t write 
the letter, and Mr. Morey was alive, it would go hard with 
Mrs. Morey for giving it out. A woman can’t be too 
careful about what she does in politics.” And having 
decided to turn the spread, Mrs. Spoopendyke tied a 
towel around her head, and having dusted her husband’s 
private papers, put them aw r ay where no human being 
could ever find them. 


XXVI. 

AN ESTEEMED CONTEMPORARY. 

"I’m an editor myself,” said he, as he planted his 
feet on the Eagle editor’s desk, and lit that function- 
ary’s pipe. " I throw ink on the Up Gulch Snorter at 
Dead wood, and you bet I make some reading matter 
for the boys. Get the Snorter on exchange here ? ” 

" I think not,” replied the editor. " Don’t know that 
I ever heard, of it.” 

" You ain’t been long in the ink business, have you?” 
asked the stranger quickly. " You don’t seem to be up 
in the literature of the day. That Snorter throws more 
influence to the square foot than all the papers in Dead- 
wood. Let me show you the style of that periodical.” 
And he drew a file of back numbers out of his pocket. 
"See them advertisements? All cash. Meeting of 
county board ; fist fight in the common council ; mine 


86 


MB. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


caved in on nineteen men ; four women lynched ; mayor 
of town convicted of burglary ; raid by Indians — all 
live news items. See the editorial? This is what I say 
about the Rapid City Enterprise : ' The distinguished 
consideration in which we hold the three-ply jackass who 
edits our noxious contemporary is only equaled by the 
rapidity with which the tumble bugs will roll him out of 
town in the spring.’ Spicy, eh ! You bet ! There ’s 
some poetry. Wrote it myself. Made it up out of my 
head. How’s this? 

“ * The radicals have nominated 
That lousy, drunken, dissipated, 

Cockeyed horse thief, Jim McFadden. 

Our candidate is Fatty Madden ! ’ ” 

" And we elected him, too, for old stock ! We go in 
for poetry out our way, from way back.” 

"We don’t do it in just that way here,” said the 
Eagle editor, with a smile. "Our folks” — 

"That’s where you’re off. You haven’t educated 
your folks up to high taste. Where I live we ’re cul- 
tured clear to the roof. Here ’s my remarks about the 
editor of the Vermilion Repeater, when he wanted to 
split the territory: 'We don’t want to reflect on the 
press, but we are compelled to say that the editor of 
the Repeater has stolen government mules so long for 
a living that he begins to flatter himself that he, too, is 
a d — d ass ! ’ That busted his business.” 

" But don’t the other editors ever pitch into you ? ” 
asked the Eagle , rather astounded at this revelation in 
journalism. 

" You just bet, pardner ! Then we get back in this 


AN ESTEEMED CONTEMPORARY. 


87 


way. This is some poetry on the Fargo News man for 
saying that I learned to read and write in the Wisconsin 
Penitentiary. Listen to this : — 


“ ‘ There is an old clam up in Fargo 
Who buys all his rum by the cargo. 

He gets drunk and spues, 

And calls it the News, 

And then the whole gang to the bar go ! * 

" I have n’t heard from him since, but he ’ll get around 
to me by and by. Here % a little criticism on our opera 
house that was regarded very highly when it was pupped : 
' Manager Whitney is giving a hightoneder performance 
than our citizens have a right to expect for two bits. 
He has engaged the beautiful Gambetta for two weeks, 
and for high, artistic kicking she has no peeress. Her 
standing jump shows careful thought and study, and her 
toe whirls are unprecedented in the history of the ballet. 
Mr. Whitney has shored up the east end of his minstrel 
troupe with the justly celebrated Patsey Maginnis, the 
best bones of modern eras. We are sorry to chronicle 
a row at this temple of Thespian virtue last night, and 
we recommend Manager Whitney, if Shang Johnson 
comes monkeying around there again, to crack his nut 
with a bottle.’ And he did it, too. It shows the power 
of the press.” 

"How are you on the political questions?” asked the 
j Eagle. 

" Well, we purport to be Democratic, but men makes 
a difference. It depends on who’s nominated. We 
supported Klingman for city marshal, though he ’s a 
Republican. We got around it in this way. We 


88 


MB. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


said, ' While the Radical party is pigheaded as a freight 
mule on all questions of importance, yet we have a 
pledge from Tom Klingman that he will not use the 
office of marshal to affect the tariff, and we will bet 
four hundred to two-fifty that he will go through the 
canvass as the coroner goes through the pockets of a 
dead nigger.’ Klingman put up pretty well, and I stood 
to win on that racket.” 

" I suppose your paper is confined to local matters . 
You don’t do much in the way of general literature,” 
said the Eagle , by way of keeping up the conversation. 

" There ’s where you ’re on your back again. It 
comes high, but our people will have it. See this story 
from Harper's biled down to half a column, but it gives 
all the facts. Then here’s a poem by my daughter. 
She ’s a powerful slinger when she ’s fed up to it. 
Boiled beef sets her a going, and a bottle of beer fetches 
the balance. How does this strike you ? This is hern. 
It ’s called ' Ode To-Night.’ 

“ ‘ The Evening for her bath of dew 
Is partially undressed, 

The Sun behind a bobtail flush 
Is setting in the west, 

The Planets light the heavens with 
The flash of their cigars, 

The Sky has put its night-shirt on 
And buttoned it with stars. 

“ ‘ I love the timid, shrinking Night, 

Its shadows and its dew ; 

I love the Constellations bright, 

So old and yet so new ! 

I love Night better than the Day, 

For people looking on, 

Can’t see me skinning round to meet 
My own, my darling John ! * 


SPOOPENDYKE'S SUSPENDERS. 


89 


" You don’t get any better truck than that in the East, 
l ou see, our people have got to have the first chop or 
bust. It ’livens a paper up, too, this poetry, and it ’s 
fat for the printers. Here ’s a little thing I dashed right 
off on the Yankton Vindicator for claiming that I 
swindled the government on a hay contract : — 

“ ‘A delirious Yankton reporter 
Has been pitching into the Snorter. 

We find he ’s the man 
Who adopted a plan 
To kill his wife rather ’n support her ! ’ 

"He ain’t been seen since. Well, pard, I must get 
out on the trail. If you ’re ever out Deadwood way, 
drop down the chimney and see me. You might as 
well put me on your exchange list, and if you ever pick 
up an item you can’t use, drop me a line and I ’ll pay 
you a little something. So long ! ” 

Parties desirous of examining the files of the Up 
Gulch Snorter , hereafter, will do well to call at the 
Eagle office before going elsewhere. 


XXVII. 

SPOOPENDYKE’S SUSPENDERS. 

"Xow, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he 
stretched himself and drew on his pantaloons, "you ’ve 
cleaned these trousers up first rate. This is what I call 
economy. It saves money. If I ’d taken ’em to the 


90 


J1 IB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


tailor’s it would have cost a couple of dollars at least, 
and you ’ve saved just that amount.” And Mr. Spoopeii- 
dyke went to his ablutions, and then pulled on his shirt. 

"I’ll clean your coat, too, if you like,” said Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. "Leave it at home some day and I’ll 
take this spot out of the sleeve.” And Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke bustled around and looked delighted with the idea 
of pleasing her husband. 

" Where ’s my suspenders? ” asked Mr. Spoopendyke, 
screwing himself . around and looking down his back. 
" You did n’t clean the suspenders clear out of sight, did 
you ? ” 

" They were there when you put on your pants,” said 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. "I have n’t touched them. What 
did you do with them ? ” 

" Oh, yes, certainly, I did something with them ! 
What d’ye s’pose I did with them? Think I set ’em up 
in business somewhere, don’t ye? Got an idea I gave 
’em a vacation to go fishing, have n’t ye ? Well, I did n’t, 
and mor’n that I did n’t send ’em away to be educated 
for the ministry. Where ’s my suspenders ? Where ’d 
you put ’em ? S’pose I ’m going around holding these 
pants up all day? Think I got no business interests 
besides holding on my breeches with both hands ? What 
’id you do with the measly things ? ” 

"I know I did n’t take them off the pants,” said Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, pulling open the bureau drawers and 
hustling things round in a vain endeavor to find the 
missing articles. 

" Maybe I can fix your pants so you won’t need any 
suspenders to-day, and I ’ll hud them before night,” 
suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke. 


SPOOPEND YKE’S SUSPENDERS. 


91 


" That’s it. You’ve got it,” raved Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. "How are you going to fix ’em? Going to tie 
them on with a-shoestring, like you do your bustle? 
Going to walk round behind me all day and hold ’em 
on ? P’r’aps you can pull ’em up and button ’em around 
my neck ! How d’ ye propose to fix ’em ? Going to 
put ’em on me upside down so if they fell they ’ll fell 
up ? If I had your head I ’d go out to service as a file. 
Fix ’em, why don’t ye? Why don’t ye fix ’em? These 
trousers are getting sick at the stomach, waiting to be 
fixed ! ” And Mr. Spoopendyke shot across the room and 
dove under the wardrobe in search of the lost suspend- 
ers. 

" They must be there somewhere.” 

" Show ’em to me then ! ” demanded Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " Take a stick and point ’em out to me ! Of 
course they’re here somewhere, only just put your 
thumb on ’em ! What have ye done with ’em ? Can’t ye 
recollect whether ye made ’em up into hat-bands for 
the heathen like you did my dressing-gown, or whether 
you planted them to see if they would grow, like you 
did my straw hat? Think they walked off like a croton 
bug? S’pose those suspenders have taken their girl to 
a picnic? What kind of housekeeping d’ye call this any 
how ? Where ’s my suspenders ? ” howled Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke, poking around in the soiled-clothes bag. " Where ’s 
those suspenders ? ” and he pulled the books off the 
shelf and rummaged around behind the case with a 
broom handle for a divining-rod. 

" Just let me buckle them tight behind,” said Mrs. 
Spoopendyke ; " the strap will hold them.” 

"That’s the scheme,” shrieked Mr. Spoopendyke; 


92 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" something ’s got to hold them ! If I was as sharp as you 
I ’d get rich hiring out for an oyster knife. All you 
want is to have somebody sit cross-legged on you, and 
come home two weeks after you ’re expected to be a 
tailor shop ! Going to find those dog gasted suspenders 
between now and the next war ? ” 

" I know they were on his pants when he put them 
on,” mused Mrs. Spoopendyke, entering upon a little 
inductive reasoning. " He did n’t take them off, and so 
they must be there now.” And the good woman ap- 
proached her husband with a smile. 

"Oh! now they’re going to be fixed,” said Mr. 
Spoopendyke, with a horrible grin. " P’r’aps you ’re 
going to cut buttonholes in your hands and feet, and 
hang over my shoulders, ain’t ye? Want me to put ’em 
on over my head, like a measly shirt with two tucks and 
a flounce to it, don’t ye ? Maybe you think those sus- 
penders hurried down to breakfast, so ’s to get the first 
crack at the morning paper, don’t you ? ” 

But Mrs. Spoopendyke made no response. Opening 
the back of her husband’s fluttering shirt, she saw the 
missing suspenders. He had slipped them over his 
shoulders before assuming the muslin, and had forgotten 
all about them. 

"Smart as a whip, ain’t ye?” growled Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke, as he drew off his shirt and let the suspenders 
down. "If my head was as clear as yours I ’d hire out 
for a church bell. You only need four lenses and a drop 
of rain water to be a microscope.” And Spoopendyke 
hurried on his clothes and scuttled down stairs to get 
the morning,paper before his wife could make a clutch 
at it. 


A PECULIAR BOARDER. 


93 


XXVIII. 

A PECULIAR BOARDER. 

A well-dressed and handsome young lady, with rich 
golden hair and sapphire eyes, seated herself in the 
parlor of the Oriental Hotel, at Coney Island, one day 
last week, and called a waiter. 

" Who, prithee, is manager now of this brave hos- 
telrie ? ” she inquired of the boy who waited upon her. 

" Yes, ma’am, he ’s down dem yere stairs in de office. 
He ’s Mr. Romeo Gillis what done de bossin’ about 
yere.” 

"Bid him then approach,” said the lady, "for unto 
him I fain would speak me of the travail which my 
poor heart suffers lest I fail of those accommodations in 
meat or sleep that lie in his advantage now to barter.” 

The waiter eyed her a moment, and then called Mr. 
Gillis, who entered the parlor all smiles. 

" Good Romeo, for so I hear thee called ; sweet 
Romeo, as I would call thee to myself, hast rooms?” 

"Why, yes,” responded Mr. Gillis, somewhat taken 
back. " We have a few left ; what would you like? ” 

"Xay, gentle Romeo, speak not so sternly, but rather 
tell me what thou hast. Perchance I might ask what 
might be beyond thy gift or sale or rent. Coin thy 
thoughts into words, and from the portals of thy coun- 
tenance drop the silver currency upon my waiting 
ears.” 


MB. ANT) MBS. SPOOPENDYKE . 


94 

" How high would you like to go ? ” said Mr. Gillis, 
backing toward the door. 

"Thy tongue asketh now conundrums, pure Romeo. 
Dost mean financially, or dost thou reckon from the 
sordid earth to where your roof doth glisten in the noon- 
tide sun?” 

" Oh ! I say,” responded Mr. Gillis, nervously, " I 
mean, you know, do you want a parlor or rooms up- 
stairs? Don’t want to offend, you know, but just tell 
me what you ’d like, and I ’ll try to fix it.” 

"All places are parlors with thee, fair Romeo, and 
recollections of thee would light up dungeons ” — 

" Gas in every room, ma’am ; hot and cold w^ater. 
Shall I call chambermaid, ma’am ? ” 

"Nay, nay. Invoke not cords and nurse. My blaz- 
ing brain ” — 

" Want a room with a fire escape?” asked Mr. Gillis, 
anxiously. 

" Might I but find escape from these swift waves that 
burn my heart. But, Romeo, if anon I take unto my- 
self such room as thy bright eyes have illumined, 
what ” — 

"Four dollars, ma’am. Four dollars a day.” 

"And canst thou not for less appease my hungering 
heart ? ” 

" That will be extra, ma’am. You can feed a la carte 
or table d’hote, as you prefer. I’m only speaking for 
the room.” 

"Audi — I am speaking of thee, my Romeo. My 
bankrupt heart ” — 

" Any baggage, ma’am?” 

" Ay, baggage ! He thinks me poor i’ the world since 
I have yielded him the wealth I had of spirit.” 


A PECULIAR BOARDER . 95 

"’Cause transients without baggage must pay in ad- 
vance,” said Mr. Gillis, in a soothing voice. 

"And may I see this cave to which thou wouldst con- 
sign me, glowing with the hope of life? Wouldst show 
me, Romeo, the prison now to which I am ordained?” 

" The prison, you mean the cells ; they ’re over in 
the other house. I don’t have — ” 

"Nay, sweet Romeo, not those. I fain would see 
the chamber whereof you told in those tender tones 
was ” — 

" Four dollars ? You mean a four-dollar room ? ” said 
Mr. Gillis, brightening up. 

" I marked me not the sordid value that thou didst 
place upon thy prolfered retreat. ’Tis food” — 

"We haven’t any four-dollar rooms with meals. 
You can see the room and make up your mind what 
you want to do.” 

"Come cords, come nurse, and I’ll do this chamber 
fair” — 

"Certainly,” said Mr. Gillis, as he dashed out of 
the parlor after the housekeeper. 

Half an hour later Mr. Gillis entered the bar-room, 
pale and with fixed features. 

"Come hither, gentle barkeep,” he said, "fill me 
high a foaming chalice with the bitters intermingled 
with the spirit, while the crystal ice shines sparkling 
and the yellow peel floats idly on the bosom of the 
nectar, fox I fain would fill my system with nepenthe 
from the sorrow I have felt, and Lethe of that long- 
legged, slab-sided, lantern-jawed old mixture of a 
Dominica hen and a Gibraltar jackass, who’s been 
howling poetry to me. The confounded old heifer was 


96 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


the agent of a baby’s swing factory, aud told the house- 
keeper she wanted to put four up in the parlor at forty 
dollars each. Say, you,” he yelled, as the waiter Avho 
first called him dashed by, — "say, you imp of sulphur, 
if you ever let in another red-headed woman with a wen 
under her ear, I’ll break your leg off and throw it 
away. Give me a cocktail before I put this house in 
need of repairs.” 

Taking one consideration with another, a hotel man’s 
life is not a happy one. 


XXIX. 

STRAIGHTENING THE ACCOUNTS. 

"Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, "if you’ll 
bring me the pen and ink, I ’ll look over your accounts 
and straighten ’em out for you. I think your idea of 
keeping an account of the daily expenses "is the best 
thing you over did. It’s business like, and I want to 
encourage you in it.” 

" Here ’s. the ink,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, growing 
radiant at the compliment. " I had the pen day before 
yesterday. Let me think.” And she dove into her work- 
basket and then glanced nervously under the bureau. 

" Well, do you suppose I ’m going to split up my 
finger and write with that?” demanded Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " Where ’s the pen ? I want the pen.” 

" I put it somewhere,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Ah ! 


S THAIGH I ENINQ THE ACCOUNTS. 97 

bore I have it. Now, you see,” she continued, "I put 
what money I spend down here. This is your account 
here, and this is the joint account You know ” — 

" Y\ hat ’-s this?” asked Mr. Spoopendyke. 

" That ’s your account ; this ” — 

"No, no, I mean this marine sketch in the second 
line ? ” 

" That? Oh, that’s a 7.” 

" S’pose I ever spent seven dollars with a tail like 
that to it? If you ’re going to make figures, why don’t 
you make figures ? What d’ ye want to make a picture 
of a prize fight in a column of -accounts for? What is 
this elephant doing here?” 

"1 think that’s a 2,” replied Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
dubiously. Maybe it’s a 4. I can tell by adding it 
up.” 

" What are you going to add up ? D’ ye count in this 
corner lot and that rose-bush and this pair of suspenders ? 
IT ye add them in ? ” 

" That ’s a 6 and that is a 5 and the last is an 8. They 
come out all right, and during the last month you have 
spent more than I and the joint account together.” 

" Have n’t either. When did 1 spend this broken-down 
gunboat ?” 

" That ain’t a boat. It ’s $42 for your suit.” 

" Well, this tramp fishing off a rock, when did I 
spend him ? ” 

"It ain’t a tramp. It’s $50 cash you took, and I 
don’t know what you spent it for. Look at my account, 
now ” — 

" What’s that man pulling a gig for? ” 

"It’s nothing of the sort. That ain’t a gig, it’s $1 


98 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


for wiggin. You see I ’ve only spent twenty-two dollars 
in a month, and you've spent ,a hundred and eighty-four.” 

" You can’t tell by this what Pve done,” growled Mr. 
Spoopendyke. " What ’s this rat-trap doing in the joint 
account ? ” 

"That’s fourteen cents for fruit, when you were 
sick.” 

" And this measly looking old hen, what has she got 
to do with it ? ” 

" That ’s no hen. That’s a 2. It means two dollars 
for having your chair mended.” 

" What have you charged me with this old graveyard 
for?” 

"That’s fifteen cents for sleeve elastics. The fifteen 
ain’t plain, but that ’s what it is.” 

"How do you make out I have spent so much? 
Where’s the vouchers? Show me the vouchers.” 

"I don’t know what you mean,” said Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, " but you spent all I put down.” 

" Have n’t done anything of the sort. Show me some 
vouchers. Your account ’s all humbug. You don’t 
know how to keep an account.” 

"Yes, I do,” pleaded Mrs. Spoopendyke, " and I 
think it ’s all right.” 

" No, you don’t. What do you mean by getting up 
engravings of a second-hand furniture store and claim- 
ing that it ’s my account? You’re a great bookkeeper, 
you are. All you want is a sign hung between you 
and the other side of the street to be a commercial col- 
lege. If I ever fail in business, I’m going to fill you 
up with benches and start a night school Give me 
that pen.” And Mr. Spoopendyke commenced running 


SOME DIFFICULTY ABOUT THE CALLS. 


99 


up the columns. " Two two’s four and eight twelve 
and four sixteen and carry one to the next and three is 
four. Here, this is wrong. You’ve got an eighteen 
for a twenty here.” 

"Eh?” jerked out Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

"This is $204, not $184. I knew you could n’t keep 
accounts. You can’t even add up.” 

" That makes your account even bigger,” replied 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. " I didn’t think it was so much.” 

Slam went the book across the room, followed by the 
pen, and the ink would have gone too, but Mrs. Spoop- 
endyke cautiously placed it out of harm’s way. 

" Dod gast it ! ” howled Mr. Spoopendyke, as he tore 
off his clothes and prepared for bed. " You ain’t fit to 
have a pen and ink. Next time I want accounts kept 
I ’ll keep ’em chained up in the yard, and don’t you go 
near ’em ; yon hear me ? ” 

" Yes,- dear,” sighed Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she 
slipped the obnoxious book into the drawer. 


XXX. 

SOME DIFFICULTY ABOUT THE CALLS. 

"Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, "let me 
see the list of ladies you want me to call on. I really 
don’t care to go around much, but a man ought to do 
what his wife wants him to do on New-Year’s day. 
Where’s the list?” 


100 


MB. AMD MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" Here it is,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, fluttering 
around with her hair in her mouth. "I wrote them all 
out with the addresses for you, so you would n’t have 
any trouble.” 

" What makes you put old Sister Lamb at the head of 
the list?” growled Mr. Spoopendyke. "She’s got a 
wart on her chin the size of a fire bell, and she can’t 
talk anything but the advantages of egg over stove coal 
for heating the Sunday school.” 

" But she belongs to the church, and I don’t believe 
any one else will call on her,” reasoned Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke. " She ’ll be tickled to death to see you.” 

"What do you think I’m starting out for?” de- 
manded Mr. Spoopendyke fiercely. " Got an idea I ’m 
going around like a missionary to carry the Gospel to 
people everybody else is afraid of? Who’s this ? What ’s 
this second name here? Who’s Mrs. Shklymbretov 9 ” 

" That ’s Mrs. Wolverton. I promised her you would 
call. Nevermind Mrs. Lamb, but you ought to call on 
Mrs. Wolverton.” 

" What for? What has she got in common Avith me, 
except that her bones are holloAV? She don’t know the 
difference between a Guinea pig and the burning of 
Jerusalem. Always wants to know if I don’t think that 
Sodom and Gomorrah Avere parables. Is that the kind 
of list you’ve made out? Want mo to run around 
among the old monuments. Who ’s Miss SAvash ? ” 

"That’s Mrs. Smith, the little AvidoAv. You knoAV 
she ’s interested in sending Avomen out West to get hus- 
bands. She ’ll amuse you.” 

" She will if she sees me. She ’ll make me laugh like 
a hyena if she gets one eye on me. Who ’s that yellow- 


SOME DIFFICULTY ABOUT THE CALLS, 101 


headed girl that sits two pews in front of us? I 'd call 
on her, now. - ’ 

” She ’s a little chit of a thing. You don’t want to run 
after those young people — a man of your age ! ” 

" What’s the reason I don’t?” howled Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. " Got an idea that I only care for the tough old 
people, haven't you? Think I’m sort of- Plymouth 
Rock, don’t you? Got any more old landmarks that 
need, inspection? ” 

fc I don’t care,” remonstrated Mrs. Spoopendyke, in- 
dignantly ; " they ’re nice people, and I like to cultivate 
them. They may be along in life, but they can’t help 
it.” 

" Cultivate ’em if you want to,” growled Mr. Spoop- 
endyke ; " but if you think I ’m going hoeing around 
among ’em on the 1st of January, you’re left. What 
d’ ye want to cultivate ’em for? With your friends and 
ideas, you only need weekly prayers and an alarm of 
tire to be an old woman’s home* Who else have you 
got here? Mrs. Sliggonspratt, Mrs. Woptenslough, 
Miss Klmpzf ” — 

" You don’t read them right at all,” complained Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. "That’s Mrs. Silverspoon and Mrs. 
Worthington and Miss Hemmingway. They are just as 
nice as they can be.” 

" Are they the three old worthies who howl in the 
choir?” asked Mr. Spoopendyke, sternty. "They’ve 
got a grandson old enough to be my father.” 

" They have n’t,” sobbed Mrs. Spoopendyke. "You 
know better.” 

" Well, most of ’em have. W r hat d’ye want me to 
call on them for? Got any more old almanacs expect- 


102 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


mg me? Where’s the Sphinx? You have n’t got the 
Sphinx down here, nor the Tower of Babel ? Who ’re 
these other pyramids ? Who ’s Mrs. Upsidedown ? ” 

" That ’s Mrs. Edgerton. She sent you the jelly when 
you were sick, and you said she was the best woman in 
Brooklyn. You’ll have to call on her for politeness,” 
said Mrs. Spoopendyke, severely. 

" I won’t, either,” shouted Mr. Spoopendyke. " The 
jelly was sour, and she made me pay a dollar toward a 
plaster of Paris angel for a starving family out in Flat- 
bush. Who ’s this other nurse of George Washing- 
ton’s ? Here, this is a mistake. I went to old Miss 
Schumslock’s funeral thirty years ago.” 

" You did n’t ! You never did ! ” proclaimed Mi s. 
Spoopendyke, thoroughly aroused. " That is n’t her 
name either. It’s Miss Schofield, and she is the best 
friend I Ve got. I only want ” — 

"I know what you want,” hissed Mr. Spoopendyke. 
"You want a few more acquaintances, and a map to be 
a guide-book to ancient Troy. Think I ’m going to call 
on that old monolith? Got anything here that belongs 
to modern times ? Know anybody who has been dug 
up within six or eight centuries? Who’s that black- 
eyed girl in the Bible class ? Don’t she hang out a flag 
to-day ? ” 

"I would n’t look at her,” sniffed Mrs. Spoopendyke. 
" I would n’t have you go there for worlds. Beside, she 
don’t receive.” 

" What’s this ?” demanded Mr. Spoopendyke. What’s 
Mrs. Wlmpqstvxq got to do with it? What cemetery 
will I find her in?” 

"That’s Mi’s. Willoughby,” explained Mrs. Spoop- 


SOME DIFFICULTY ABOUT THE CALLS. 103 

endyke, complacently. "She’s the young widow who 
recently joined the church.” 

M ^ ^ on ^ m,n d calling on her,” said Mr. Spoopendyke. 
"She wasn’t born more ’n four thousand years before 
the Christian era. Got any more like her ? Does this 
measly list contain anybody else who was n’t the mother 
ot the Chinese Empire? Think of any more grave- 
stones that have n’t had the epitaphs worn off?” & 

No, replied Mrs. Spoopendyke, coldly, ' and now 
I remember Mrs. Willoughby receives calls with friends 
in Buffalo ” 

" Dod gast your dod-gasted list ! ” howled Mr. Spoop- 
endyke, dancing on the unhappy document. " What 
d’ ye think I am, a ghoul ? S’pose I ’m going to prance 
around among all the measly old ghosts in Brooklyn? 
S’pose I ’m going to swash around and eat cake and 
drink lemonade with a lot of illustrations of the Silurian 
period? Think I ’m going to spend the day with a lot 
of articulated old skeletons just because they belong to 
the same church that I do?” And Mr. Spoopendyke 
popped out of the house like a bung, and went next 
door to see if his friend Tortorthumb knew any mum- 
mies of whose history there was some tradition. 

" I don’t care,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she whirled 
around two or three times to practise kicking her train, 
" if he don’t call on the church people they ’ll be hopping 
mad, and if he does, he won’t have much of a time, so 
he ’ll wish he was dead either way.” And Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke bustled into the parlor to assure a sandy-haired 
young man with a stiff neck that it was awful good for 
him to come, and to learn that he had n’t come far of 
his own volition, but had slid most of the way. 


104 


MB, AND MBS, SPOOPENDYKE. 


XXXI. 

THE FIRST WOMAN OF BISMARCK. 

In the early days of Bismarck, 

From tradition it appears, 

There was lack of woman’s nursing, 
And a dearth of woman’s tears. 

For the pioneering gentry, 

Busy mapping out the plots, 

And defending their own titles 

While they jumped each other’s lots, 

Had neglected altogether 
That one element, about 
Which circles all society, 

And left the woman out. 

When the error was discovered, 

Those familiar with the facts, 

Said a town without a woman 
Was like euchre without jacks. 

And they held that man could never 
Hope to rise above the brutes, 
Without a woman’s loving hand 
To clean his shirts and boots. 


THE FIRST WOMAN OF BISMARCK. 


105 


Consequently great rejoicing 
Seized straightway on the town, 

.When a stern- wheel boat from Benton 
Set a little woman down. 

And when she came among them, 

And dropped her bag and trunk, 

They recognized God’s mercies, 

And started on a drunk. 

She was n’t very handsome, 

Or especially well dressed ; 

She had no wealth to back her, 

And her manners were n’t the best ; 

She professed no deep religion, 

Nor insight into books, 

And they dubbed her Short and Dirty, 
From her longitude and looks ; 

And she might have had shortcomings ; 
That, they honestly confessed, 

But to them she was a woman, 

And that coppered all the rest. 

So they bent in tender worship 
Before this female shrine, 

Whose every word was statute, 

And whose shoe was number nine. 

One cold, dark, winter evening, 

There was trouble in the town, 

A fearful northern blizzard, 

Had blown some shanties down. 


106 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


And the red fire dancing wildly 
Above the pallid snow, 

Lighted up a burning building, 

And pale faces down below. 

Lighted up a burning building, 

With a hot, remorseless glare, 

And an old face at a window 

Snowy white with fierce despair ! 

The quivering crowd shrank backward 
From that seething, hell-like place, 

As the fighting, roaring, hungry tongues 
Swept up toward that face. 

And the old and wretched cripple, 

Who had lost those useful tools 
Called legs, in his profession 
Of educating mules, 

Gazed down upon the horror 
That burned his very eyes, 

And turned his life away from earth, 

And fixed it in the skies. 

Through the helpless mob came bursting 
A short, strong woman’s frame, 

And climbed upon the awning, 

Through the ranks of smoke and flame, — 

Climbed up the light, frail gutter, 

With her hands and knees and teeth, 

Till she reached the falling cripple, 

And faced the crowd beneath. 


FI FINE. 


107 


Then she raised the lump of manhood, 
And threw it in the street, 

As the building waved and tottered 
And sank beneath her feet. 


"I believe,” said Mr. Hannafin, 
To a crowd that came from far, 
To hear the dismal details. 

And foregather at the bar, — 

" I believe that Short and Dirty 
Has found a better place 
Than Bismarck for society. 

Put that blue stack on the ace.” 


XXXII. 

FIFINE. 

AFTER VICTOR HUGO. 

Chapter One . 

Jacques was an organ grinder. He had a square 
box filled with cast-off gas-pipes. When he twisted 
the crank the air rushed into the pipes and the music 
came out at the other end. 

Fifine liked to hear Jacques play and he liked to 
play for her. Jacques loved Fifine, and treasured all 


108 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


the sous she gave him. Fifine did not love. Jacques, 
and they both knew it. 

" Bon jour, Jacques,” said Fifine. 

" Bon jour, Fifine,” said Jacques. 

This conversation took place just after the 12th of 
July. 

Chapter Two. 

Fifine’s father was a bourgeois. Jacques was a long 
primer. Jacques dared not tell of his noble birth, lest 
the hatred entertained for the Bourbons should result 
in his death. For this reason he played the hand or- 
gan. Playing the organ brought him near Fifine. 

"What are you doing, Fifine?” asked Jacques one 
morning as he was twisting "Nancy Lee” out of his 
hand organ. 

"Washing windows,” said Fifine. " 1 wish I had the 
North Pole to reach that top one.” 

Jacques picked up a rock and smashed his hand or- 
gan. 

"What have you done, Jacques?” asked Fitine. 

" Nothing,” said Jacques. 

Then he walked oft*. 

Chapter Three. 

Jacques walked to the North Cape, and jumped into 
the Arctic Ocean. In four hours he swam to the pack 
ice around Spitsbergen. He climbed up on the ice and 
walked to the eighty- seventh degree of north latitude. 
A polar bear attacked him. When the bear opened his 
mouth Jacques crept in. 

" This is warm,” said Jacques. 


FIFINE. 


109 


" That’s cool,” said the bear. 

The bear started north and plunged into the open 
sea around the pole. It is claimed by some scientists 
that there is no open sea there. The bear knew better. 

Jacques looked out of the bear’s mouth and saw he 
was in a whirlpool. He glanced at his compass and 
saw that the needle pointed to the centre of the pool. 

" The north pole is there,” said Jacques. 

Chapter Four . 

Gervais was a map pedler. He loved Filine, and 
often presented her with maps of Australia. Gervais 
loved Fifine, but she did not care for him. She used 
his maps to stop up rat-holes. 

" Bon soir , Fifine,” said Gervais. 

" Bon soir , Gervais,” said Fifine. 

This was while the Bourbons were plotting to over- 
throw the revolution. Danton was dead. Robespierre 
had unclinched his bloody hand from the throat of 
the people, and the coming carnage of March already 
sent its throbs through the arteries of Paris. 

"What are you doing, Fifine,” asked Gervais. 

" Washing windows,” said Fifine. " I wish I had the 
South Pole to reach the top one.” 

Gervais threw his maps into the sewer and left. In 
six hours he had reached the Antarctic Continent. 

Chapter Five. 

A seal attacked Gervais. He sprang into the seal 
and settled himself comfortably. • 

" This is? fun,” said Gervais. 


no 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" That ’s business,” said the seal. 

The seal waddled over the ice, and in an hour had 
reached the open polar sea. Gervais looked through 
the seal’s eye and saw he was in a whirlpool, toward 
the centre of which the needle of his compass always 
pointed. 

" The pole is in there,” said Gervais ; " I shall marry 
Fifine.” 

Chapter Six. 

The rings of the whirlpool brought Jacques and Crer- 
vais to the centre at the same moment Jacques was at 
the North Pole and Gervais at the South. Both pulled 
at the same time. Neither pole would stir. It was a 
continuous stick, and neither could succeed until the 
other let go. They stopped pulling and spit on their 
hands, and then pulled again. The excitement was ter- 
rific. They were twenty-two thousand miles apart, and 
neither knew of the other. Each was brave and deter- 
mined, but it was no use. 

"Come out,” said Jacques, tugging away. 

" Come up,” said Gervais. 

Both poles stuck fast. 


Chapter Seven. 

"How goes it, Fifine?” said Francois. 

" First-rate,” said Fifine. " I don’t wash windows any 
more. We keep a girl.” 

Fifine loved Francois. He had been a cardinal, but 
had retired from business. 

:: Let us get married, Fifine,” said Francois. 


FIF1NE. 


Ill 


" Good enough,” said Fifine. " Wait till I get my 
hat.” 

She came out and saw* Gervais and Jacques standing 
at the gate. Each had a long pole on his shoulder, 
broken in the middle. 

''Here is the North Pole, Fifine,” said Jacques. 

" This is the South Pole, Fifine,” said Gervais. 

"Come, Fifine,” said Francois. 

"You can take the poles back, Messieurs. I don’t 
wash windows since we got a girl. Excuse me. I am 
going to marry Francois.” 

Chapter Eight . 

Francois and Fifine came back married. In front of 
the house they saw two poles standing upright. Jacques 
was at the top of one and Gervais on top of the other. 

" Good by, Fifine ! ” said Gervais. 

" Dieu vous garde , Fifine,” said Jacques. 

Then they fell off the poles on top of Francois and 
smashed him like a walnut. 

"Great Scott ! ” said Fifine. " I don’t believe any of 
them are good for much now, but the poles may be 
worth something.” 

Fifine laughed, and went into the house. 


112 


ME. AND MES. SPOOPENDYKE. 


XXXIII. 

A COMPLICATED GARMENT. 

"My clear,” observed Mr. Spoopendyke, looking up 
from his paper, " I think I would be greatly benefited 
this summer by sea baths. Bathing in the surf is an 
excellent tonic, and if you will make me up a suit, and 
one for yourself, if you like, we ’ll go down often and 
take a dip in the waves.” 

" The very thing,” smiled Mrs. Spoopendyke, "you 
certainly need something to tone you up, and there’s 
nothing like salt water. I think I ’ll make mine of blue 
flannel, and, let me see, yours ought to be red, my 
dear.” 

" I don’t think you caught the exact drift of my 
remark,” retorted Mr. Spoopendyke. "I didn’t say I 
was going into the opera business, or that I was going 
to hire out to some country village as a conflagration. 
My plan was to go in swimming, Mrs. Spoopendyke, to 
go in swimming, and not grow up with the country as a 
cremation furnace. You can make yours of blue, if you 
want it, but you don’t make mine of red, that’s all.” 

"There ’s a pretty shade of yellow flannel” — 

"Most indubitably, Mrs. Spoopendyke, but if you 
think I ’m going to masquerade around Manhattan Beach 
in the capacity of a ham, you have n’t yet seized my 
idea. I don’t apprehend that I shall benefit by the 
waters any more by going around looking like a Santa 


A COMPLICATED QAFtMENT. 


113 


Cruz rum barrel. What I want is a bathing suit, and 
if you can’t get one up without making me look like a 
Fulton-street car, I’ll go and buy something to suit me.” 

" Would you want it all in one piece, or do you want 
pants and blouse ? ” 

" 1 want a suit easy to get in and out of. I ’m not 
particular about following the fashion. Make up some- 
thing neat, plain, and substantial, but don’t stick any 
fancy colors into it. I want it modest and service- 
able.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke made up the suit, under the guid- 
ance of a lady friend, whose aunt had told her how it 
should be constructed. It was in one piece, and when 
completed was rather a startling garment. 

"I’ll try it on to-night,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, 
eying it askance when it was handed him. 

Before retiring, Mr. Spoopendyke examined the suit, 
and then began to get into it. 

"Why didn’t you make some legs to it? What d’ye 
want to make it all arms for?” he inquired, struggling 
around to see why it did n’t come up behind. 

" You’ve got it on sideways,” exclaimed Mrs. Spoop- 
endyke. "You ’ve got one leg into the sleeve.” 

" I Ve got to get it on sideways. There ain’t any top 
to it. Don’t you know enough to put the arms up where 
they belong? What d’ ye think I am anyhow? A star- 
fish ? Where does this leg go ? ” 

"Right in there. That’s the place for that leg.” 

" Then where ’s the leg that goes in this hole ? ” 

" Why, the other leg.” 

"The measly thing ’s all legs. Who ’d you make this 
thing for, me? W hat d’ye take me for, a centipede? 


L14 


MB. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


Who else is going to get in here with me ? I want some- 
body else. I ain’t twins. I can’t fill this business up. 
What d’ye call it, any way ; a family machine ?” 

" Those other places ain’t legs ; they’re sleeves.” 

" What are they doing down there? Why ain’t they 
up here where they belong? What are they there for, 
snow-shoes ? S’pose I ’m going to stand on my head to 
get my arms in those holes ? ” 

" I don’t think you ’ve got it on right,” suggested Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. " It looks twisted.” 

"That’s the way you told me. You said, 'put this 
leg here and that one there,’ and there they are. Now, 
where does the rest of me go ? ” 

"I made it according to the pattern,” sighed Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. 

"Then it’s all right, and it’s me that’s twisted,” 
sneered Mr. Spoopendyke. " I ’ll have my arms and 
legs altered. All I want is to have my legs jammed in 
the small of my back and my arms stuck in my hips ; 
then it’ll fit. What did you take for a pattern, a crab? 
Where ’d you find the lobster you made this thing from ? 
S’pose I ’m going into the water on all fours ? I told 
you I wanted a bathing suit, did n’t I ? Did I say any- 
thing about a chair cover ? ” 

" I think if you take it off and try it on over again, 
it’ll work,” reasoned Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

" Oh ! of course. I ’ve only got to humor the gasted 
thing. That ’s all it wants.” And Mr. Spoopendyke 
wrenched it off with a growl. 

"Now, pull it on,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

Mr. Spoopendyke went at it again, and reversed the 
original order of disposing his limbs. 

"Suit you now?” he "howled. " That the way you 


A COMPLICATED GARMENT. 


115 


meant it to go ? What ’s these things flopping around 
here ? ” 

"Those are the legs, I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, dejectedly. 

"What are they doing up here? Oh, I see. This 
is supposed to represent me making a dive. When 
I get this on, I’m going head first. Where’s the bal- 
ance? Where ’s the rest? Give me the suit that repre- 
sents me head up.” And Mr. Spoopendyke danced 
around the room in fury. 

" Just turn it over, my dear,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
" and you are all right ” 

" How ’m I going to turn it over ?” yelled Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. "S’pose I’m going to carry around a steam 
boiler to turn me over when I want the other end of 
this thing up? S’pose I’m going to hire a man to go 
around with a griddle spoon and turn me over like a 
flapjack, just to please this dod-gasted bathing suit? 
D ’ ye think I work on pivots?” 

" Just take it off and put it on the other .way,” urged 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, who began to see her way clear. 

Mr. Spoopendyke kicked l he structure up to the ceil- 
ing, and plunged into it once more. This time it came 
out all right, and as he buttoned it up and sur- 
veyed himself in the glass, the clouds passed away, and 
he smiled. 

" I like it,” he remarked, " the color suits me, and I 
think you have done very well, my dear ; only,” and he 
frowned slightly, "I wish you would mark the arms 
and legs so I can distinguish one from the other, or 
some day I will present the startling spectacle of a re- 
spectable elderly gentleman hopping around the beach 
upside down. That’s all.” 


116 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE . 


XXXI Y. 

FACTS VERSUS POETRY. 

" Would you be kind enough to direct me to the edi- 
tor?” asked a grave and venerable gentleman, with a 
kindly face and pleasant smile. 

" Me ’s out,” responded the Law Reporter. " Is there 
anything I can do ? ” 

"I am Dr. Holmes,” responded the gentleman. 

"Where’s your office, Doctor? Come to see about 
the diphtheria? I can do as well as the editor. What 
is it? ” And the Law Reporter braced himself. 

"Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes,” replied the gentle- 
man, his handsome face beaming with good-nature. "I 
have a little poem I would like to submit. Shall 1 leave 
it with you?” 

The Law Reporter took it and read it aloud. 

" You call it a • Winter Day on the Prairie,’ ” said he. 

" H’m ; yes.” 

“ ‘A blinding glare, a silver sky, 

A sea of snow, with frozen spray ; 

The foaming billows swelling high, 

Updashed against the icy day. 

White laden northern whirlwinds blow 
Across the pale sea’s heaving breast, 

And fill the creamy ebb and flow 
With stormy terror and unrest. 


FACTS VERSUS POETRY. 


117 


“ ‘ The storm birds flit athwart the main 
Like rudderless, bewildered ships, 

The stranded winds breathe sobs of pain 
Aud frosty froth from pallid lips. 

The seething, milky waves, in swift 
Harsh struggle with the fate that binds, 

Break into frozen rift and drift 

Against the wrecked and straining winds. 

“ ‘ A sea of loneliness and death, 

Whose waves are ghosts, whose vales are graves, 

Whose inspiration is the breath 
That lurks in northern winter caves. 

A snowy gloom, whose icy shade 
Lies white beneath the spray-tipped crest, 

Whose silver sombreness is laid 
A glaring pall across its breast.’ 

"Just so, just so,” continued the Law Reporter, 
" Did you want this published as it is ? ” 

"I had thought something of giving it publicity,” 
said the doctor. 

" You ’ll have to get the advertising clerk to register 
it then,” retorted the Law Reporter. " I would n’t 
take the responsibility of sending it in as it stands now.” 

" What seems to be the matter with it? ” inquired the 
doctor. 

" I don’t think it is natural. Now, here, you take a 
snow-storm on the prairies, and make it a sea. Then 
you freeze it all up and make it dash around. You ’ve 
either got to thaw it out or quit dashing it. We may 
be able to alter it so it will do, if you’ll leave it.” 

"What alterations would you suggest?” asked the 
doctor. 

" I \\ fix that first verse so as to be in accordance with 
the facts; make it 'sequential,’ as we say in law. In- 


118 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPEND YKE. 


stead of having the blinding and the silver and the 
foaming billows, and the white laden winds, and the 
creamy ebb and all that rot, 1 ’d put it in this way : — 


‘“In township thirty, range twenty-nine, 

Described in the deed as prairie land, 

It sometimes snows in the winter time, 

As we are given to understand. 

This alleged snow falls on a level, 

It ’s said, some several feet or more, 

And when the wind blows like the devil, 

It drifts from where it was before.’ 

" In that way,” continued the Law Reporter, " you 
get the facts before the public without committing the 
paper to anything. Under your poem, any man who 
could prove that you were talking about his land could 
bring a libel suit, and the measure of damages would be 
what he could have sold it for if you had n’t written it 
up as a sea.” 

" Will the other verse do ? ” asked the doctor. 

" I ’m afraid not,” replied the Law Reporter. " This 
business about the storm bird without a rudder, and 
stranded winds and milky waves, don’t prove anything. 
They wouldn’t be admitted in evidence anywhere. I 
suppose you want to express desolation, but the testi- 
mony is n’t good. Why don’t you say : — 

“ ‘In the place aforesaid, when the said winds blow, 

The tenants thereof don’t go about, 

And such birds as find they can stand the snow 
Look as though they’d had their tails pulled out. 

And when the said snow and said winds are gone. 

It’s found the said land finds a ready taker, 

For though you can’t farm much when the winter’s ou, 

The property don’t fall a cent an acre.’ 


FACTS VERSUS POETRY. 


119 


" There you get your desolation and your birds like 
rudderless ships, and at the same time you throw in a 
clause which lets you out of the libel by showing that 
the snow don’t affect the value of the ground. The 
way you had it, you would have brought all the western 
settlements down on us. Been a poet long?” 

"I — I, that is, I begin to think not,” gasped the 
unhappy doctor. "But can’t you do something with 
the last verse?” 

" We might leave that out altogether, or we might 
substitute something for it. The last verse is a contra- 
diction of terms. It ’s a non sequiter, as we say in law, 
and could have no status in court in the event of an 
action. You can’t say snowy gloom, or white shade, 
and as for a glaring pall, I presume you mean the white 
velvet one they use for infants. I could n’t pass that in, 
but I might change it for you. How would this do ? 

“ ‘ It is rumored that while the snow 
Is on the land before described, 

It looks as though one could n’t sow 
Seed to advantage, though this is denied. 

Some people hold that it empties the pouch 
To buy land in the winter in the north ; 

For this unsupported statement we do not vouch, 

But give the story for what it is worth.’ 

" This, you see, gives all the sides of the question, 
without making the paper responsible for anything. I 
call that a superior article of poetry,” continued the Law 
Reporter, reading the three stanzas over in an admiring 
tone of voice. 

"But there is n’t any poetry in it,” stammered the doc- 
tor. 


120 


MB. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" What’s the reason there isn’t?” demanded the Law 
Reporter indignantly. "Don’t it tell everything you 
did, and don’t it rhyme in some places ? Don’t it get 
out all the facts, and don’t it let people know what ’s 
going on ? ” 

"Of course it does,” chimed in the Police Reporter. 
" That ’s what I call a good item of poetry. I think you 
might add that startling developments may be expected, 
and that the police have got a clew to the perpetrator.” 

" That is n’t necessary,” replied the Law Reporter, 
loftily, "we poets always leave something to the reader’s 
imagination.” 

" 1 believe I ’ll go,” murmured the doctor. 

" All right, sir. Come around any time when you ’ve 
got some poetry you want fixed up.” And the Law Re- 
porter bowed the visitor out. 


XXX Y. 

WOMAN IN POLITICS. 

"Now, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, "if you will 
come and sit down here, I ’ll explain the political situ- 
ation to you. I am glad to see you take an interest in 
such things, for everybody ought to thoroughly under- 
stand what is going on in the country.” 

" I ’ve been reading about them every day,” rejoined 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, " and I think I know a good deal 
about politics now.” And the good lady turned Turkey 


WOMAN IN POLITICS. 


121 


red with the idea that she had excited her husband’s 
admiration. "I think Mr. Garfield is too sweet to live, 
and that dear Mr. Hancock is just as nice as he can 
be. They are ever so much better than that odious 
English and Arthur. Oh ! if I was a man, I would vote 
for Garfield and Hancock.” 

"That ain’t the way to talk politics,” said Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. " 1 thought you said you knew something 
about it ! Got an idea that Garfield and Hancock are 
some kind of a bonnet, have n’t you ? Well, they ain’t, 
and they ain’t a foreign Bible society either.” 

" Do you like English and Arthur best ? They may 
be good men for the Presidency, but I saw more in the 
papers about Garfield and Hancock, and I thought they 
must be splendid. Perhaps I was mistaken.” 

" Garfield and Hancock ain’t running together, I tell 
ye,” retorted Mr. Spoopendyke. "They are running 
against each other.” 

"That ’s another thing,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, com- 
placently. " If they are doing that, I perfectly agree 
with you in thinking that English and Arthur are the 
best. They are perfect gentlemen, and Mr. Arthur is 
so handsome ! I saw his picture ” — 

"Don’t you know anything at all, scarcely?” de- 
manded Mr. Spoopendyke. " English and Arthur ain’t 
twins. They are running against each other, too. 
Where ’d you find out about politics any way, in a cook 
book"? P’r’aps you think these candidates are vege- 
tables, Mrs. Spoopendyke, but they ain’t; they’re men 
with arms and legs ; they ain’t things to make a pud- 
ding of.” 

" Certainly ; I know that,” responded Mrs. Spoopen- 


122 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


dyke, cheerfully, " but if Mr. Garfield is running against 
Mr. Hancock, and Mr. English is running against Mr. 
Arthur, I don’t see what we’re going to do. How are 
we going to choose ? ” 

" But they ’ve got to run against each other,” explained 
Mr. Spoopendyke, with rising emphasis. "You don’t 
suppose candidates all run together like a lot of hens, 
do you ? ” 

"if Mr. Hancock and Mr. Garfield run against each 
other, won’t Mr. Hancock have the best of it?” 

" Why should he?” demanded Mr. Spoopendyke. 

" ’Cause he’s so big. If they were running together, 
he ’d get beat, ’cause he’s too fat. He could n’t” — 

" Does anybody in the country know what you ’re 
talking about? Do you s’pose they stand off and bump 
up against each other like a couple of freight trains? 
Got an idea they ’re going to roll up their trousers and 
run a leg race ? I tell ye that Hancock is running for 
one President, and Garfield is running for another. Now 
d’ ye understand ? ” 

" Oh, that ’s it. Now I begin to see into it,” returned 
Mrs. Spoopendyke, joyously. " So if you want to vote 
for two men for President, you must vote for Eng- 
lish and Arthur. I understand it perfectly now. 
But ” — 

"Oh, yes, you understand it, don’t ye?” yelled Mr. 
Spoopendyke. "You’re the politician of seven ages. 
All you need is a registration book and a brass band to 
be a whole political campaign. I tell ye Hancock is 
running for President, and so is Garfield, and Arthur 
and English are running for Vice-President, Can you 
understand that ? ” 


WOMAN IN POLITICS. 


123 


" Yes, I do ; but do you think Arthur and English 
will get it. I read in one ” — 

"Get it! They can’t both get it. Only one of ’em 
can get it,” exclaimed Mr. Spoopendyke, suppressing 
his passion. " What d’ ye think the Vice-Presidency is, 
a pair of pigeon-holes ? One of ’em will be President 
and the other Vice-President. Now, can you bore that 
through your skull and remember it? ” 

" Wh y, of course ; but I feel sorry for poor Mr. Gar- 
field and poor Mr. Hancock. They ’ll be awfully dis- 
appointed ; but of course we can’t help it. Which will 
be President, do you think, Mr. Arthur or Mr. Eng” — 
" Dod gast it ! ” raved Mr. Spoopendyke. " You 
don’t know enough to go to sleep when you’re tired. 
Don’t 1 tell you Garfield or Hancock will be President, 
and English or Arthur Vice-President? Say it over 
until you remember it. The tickets are Hancock and 
English, and Garfield and Arthur. Comprehend that? ” 
" Why, certainly. I saw those names on the ban- 
ners. I remember it now. Which will be elected ? ” 
"That’s the question,” rejoined Mr. Spoopendyke, 
sarcastically. " If Mr. English can carry his own State 
and Ohio, he will be elected ; but if Mr. Garfield can 
carry his own State and Indiana, he has an excellent 
show.” 

" What will Mr. Hancock and Mr. Arthur carry?” 
asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, with an air of absorbing 
interest. 

"Carry!” howled Mr. Spoopendyke, "they’ll carry 
swill to the pigs, and that’s more’n you know how to 
do. What d’ ye s’pose they ’ll carry ? ” 

" I suppose Mr. Arthur will carry Mr. English’s State, 


124 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


won’t lie, and his own? And Mr. Hancock will carry 
Mr. Garfield’s State and Governor’s Island. Ain’t that 
where he lives ? I don’t see what they want of each 
other’s States. They ought” — 

"Oh, you’ve got it,” shrieked Mr. Spoopendyke. 
"You’ve got it boiled down. You only need a heavy 
rain and the side door of a bar-room to be an election 
day. What you want is a lot of blots and your name 
spelled wrong to be a poll list. Don’t I tell ye that two 
of ’em are running against the other two, and the two 
that get the most States will bo elected? And if a man 
can’t carry his own State he’s liable to get licked? 
Can’t ye understand that?” 

"I see; I see,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke "It’s as 
plain as day now. But suppose they all carry their 
own States, won’t it be funny?” 

" He, he, he,” giggled Mr. Spoopendyke, with hor- 
rible grimaces. " It ’ll be the funniest thing ever known. 
If they do that, you just dramatize it. It’ll beat nine 
circuses in a row. How’s each going to carry his own 
State ? Think he’s going to turn it up on one end and 
roll it like a hoop ? ” 

" I don’t know,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, reflecting. 
"I don’t exactly understand how they do it, but they 
ought to know what they are going to do before they 
accept the convention. I read ” — 

" Who cares a dod-gasted cent what ye read? ” pealed 
forth Mr. Spoopendyke. "You don’t know enough 
about politics to stuff a chicken. Who said anything 
about any measly convention? Git into bed, will ye? 
You got an idea that you put candidates in a pot like 
turnips and poke ’em with a fork, and the one that 's 


DROPPING INTO POETRY . 


125 


done first is elected. Oh! you’re right; you’ve got 
the sense of it. With your statesmanship, all you want 
is four amendments and a motion to adjourn to he an 
Act of Congress.” And Mr. Spoopendyke cast his cloth- 
ing into a corner, flopped into bed, and pulled the 
clothes over his ears 

”1 don’t care,” mused Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she 
turned out the gas and then began puttering around to 
see if everything was all right ; "1 know now that if 
Mr. English carries Mr. Garfield’s State, and Mr. Gar- 
field carries Mr. English’s State, it will go hard with 
Hancock and Arthur, and Mr. Arthur is such a hand- 
some man.” And Mrs. Spoopendyke sidled into bed, 
planted her cold feet in the pit of Mr. Spoopendyke’s 
stomach, and went to sleep dreaming that that worthy 
was running for the office of notary-public, and had car- 
ried every State in the Union, including " Governor’s 
Ireland.” 


XXXVI. 

DROPPING INTO POETRY. 

" If you please, sir,” said the young lady timidly, as 
the exchange editor handed her a chair, " I have com- 
posed a few verses, or partially composed them, and I 
thought you might help me finish them and then print 
them. Ma says they are real nice as far as they go, 
and pa takes the Eagle every day. 

She was a handsome creature, with beautiful blue 
eyes and a crowning glory as yellow as golden-rods. 


126 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


There was an expectant look on her face, a hopefulness 
that appealed to the holiest emotions, and the exchange 
editor made up his mind not to crush the longing of 
that pure heart if he never struck another lick. 

"May I show you the poetry ?” continued the ripe, 
red mouth. " You will see that I could n’t get the last 
lines of the verses, and if you would please be so kind 
as to help me ” — 

Help her ! Though he had never even read a line of 
poetry, the exchange editor felt the spirit of the divine 
art flood his soul, as he yielded to the bewildering 
music. Help her ! well, he should smile. 

"The first verse runs like this,” she went on, taking 
courage from his eyes : — 

“ ‘ How softly sweet the autumn air 
The dying woodland fills, 

And Nature turns from restful care — ’ 

" To anti-bilious pills ! ” added the exchange editor, 
with a jerk. "Just the thing. It rhymes, and it ’s so? 
You take anybody now. Half the people you meet 
are ” — 

" I suppose you know best,” interrupted the young 
girl. " I had n’t thought of it in that way, but you 
have a better idea of such things. Now the second 
verse is more like this : — 

“ ‘ The dove-eyed kine upon the moor 
Look tender, meek, and sad, 

While from the valley comes the roar — ’ 

" Of the matchless liver pad ? ” roared the exchange 
editor. " There you get it. That finishes the second 
so as to match with the first. It combines the fashions 


DROPPING INTO POETRY. 


127 


with poetry, and carries the idea right home to the fire- 
side. If I only had your ability in starting a verse with 
my genius in winding it up, I ’d quit the shears and open 
in the poetry business to-morrow.” 

"Think so?” asked the fair young lady. "It don’t 
strike me as keeping up the theme.” 

"You don’t want to. You want to break the theme 
here and there. The reader likes it better. Oh, yes ! 
Where you keep up the theme it gets monotonous.” 

"Perhaps that’s so,” rejoined the beauty, brighten- 
ing up. "I did n’t think of that. Now I ’ll read the 
third verse : — 

“ ‘ How sadly droops the dying day, 

As night springs from the glen ; 

And moaning twilight seems to say — 

" The old man’s drunk again, would n’t do, would it? ” 
asked the exchange editor. " Somebody else wrote 
that, and we might be accused of plagiarism. We must 
have this thing original. Suppose we say ; now, just 
suppose we say, ' Why did I spout my Ben ? ’ ” 

"Is that new?” inquired the sweet, rosy lips. "At 
least I never heard it before. I don’t know what it 
means.” 

"New? ’Deed it’s new. Ben is the Presbyterian 
name for overcoat, and spout means to hock. ' Why 
did I spout my Ben ? ’ means why did I shove my 
topper. That ’s just what twilight would think of first, 
you know. Oh, don’t be afraid, that ’s just immense ! ” 

" Well, I’ll leave it to you,” said the glorious girl, 
with a smile that pinned the exchange editor’s heart to 
his spine. " This is the fourth verse : — 


128 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


“ 1 The merry milkmaid’s sombre song 
Re-echoes from the rocks, 

As silently she trips along — ’ 

" With holes in both her socks, by Jove ! ” cried the 
delighted exchange editor. " You see ” — 

"Oh! no, no!” remonstrated the blushing maiden. 
"Not that.” 

" Certainly,” protested the exchange editor, warming 
up. "Nine to four she’s got ’em ; and you get fidelity 
to fact with a wealth of poetical expression. The worst 
of poetry generally is, you can’t state things as they are. 
It ain’t like prose. But here we’ve busted all the estab- 
lished notions, and put up an actual existence with a 
veil of genuine poetry over it. I think that’s the best 
idea we’ve struck yet.” 

"I don’t seem to look at it as you do, but of course 
you are the best judge. Pa thought I ought to say, — 

“ ‘ As silently she trips along 
In autumn’s yellow tracks.’ 

Wouldn’t that do?” 

" Do ! Just look at it. Does tracks rhyme to rocks ? 
Not in the Brooklyn Eagle it don’t. Beside when you 
say ' tracks ’ and ' rocks ’ you give the impression of 
some fellow heaving things at another fellow who’s 
scratching for safety. 'Socks,’ on the other hand, 
rhymes with the f rocks ’ and beautifies them while it 
touches up the milkmaid, and by describing her condi- 
tion, shows her to be a child of the very Nature you are 
showing up.” 

"I think you’re right,” said the sweet angel. "I’ll 


THE DIFFICULTIES OF AN OBATOli. 


129 


tell pa where he was wrong. This is the way the fifth 
verse runs : — 

“ 1 Aud close behind, the farmer’s boy 
Trills forth his simple tunes, 

And slips beside the maiden coy — ’ 

"And splits his pantaloons; done it myself; know 
just exactly how it is. Why, bless your heart, you — ” 
Snip, snip, snip. Paste, paste, paste. But it is with 
a saddened heart that he snips and pastes among his ex- 
changes now. The beautiful vision that for a moment 
dawned upon him has left but the recollection in his 
heart of one sunbeam in his life, quenched by the shower 
of tears with which she denounced him as a " nasty 
brute ” and went out from him forever. 


XXXVII. 

THE DIFFICULTIES OF AN GRATOE, 

"Xow, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he drew 
writing materials toward him, " now, I want your wo- 
man’s wit. These fellows insist that I must respond to 
the toast ' Woman,’ to-morrow night, and I must pre- 
pare a few remarks. If we both go at it, we ’ll get up 
something nice.” 

" What you want,” argued Mrs. Spoopendyke, enter- 
ing into the spirit of the undertaking, and tapping her 
teeth with her thimble, — " what you want is woman in 
her various phases.” 


130 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPEND YK E. 


" What I want is a speech,” retorted Mr. Spoopendyke. 
"They haven’t put me down for a panorama. I want a 
short address, full of good points and pleasant things 
about the ladies. Now, I shall begin, 'Fellow-citi- 
zens — 

"But women ain’t fellow-citizens. I should say” — 
"You’d say, ' fellow back hair/ that’s what you’d say. 
I’m addressing the people, and they ’re all men ; don’t 
you see? I’ve got to commence somewhere, and then 
I go on. Now, 'Fellow-citizens, regarding women, our 
origin, our companions, our posterity, our mothers, our 
wives and our daughters, what more can we say than 
that they give us life, make it happy, and soothe its de- 
cline ? ’ How’s that ? ” 

" Is that the same woman ? ” asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
bending over the table. " It don’t strike me that she 
would care to have it put in that way. Why not say, 
'Fellow-citizens, we are assem’” — 

" What ’s the matter with you ? ” demanded Mr. Spoop- 
endyke. "I’ve got to open with a sentiment, and you 
can’t find anything more graceful than that. Then I will 
go on : ' She rises in the cradle, reaches her meridian 
at the altar, and goes down in a flood of dew at the 
grave.’ Can you grasp that ? ” 

" I don’t like that as well as the other,” remonstrated 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. "You make her a mother, while 
she ’s a baby, and as for the grave part, you don’t stop t( 
think that she may be another meridian by getting mar- 
ried again. I would say something like this, ' Fellow- 
citizens, we are assem ’ ” — 

" No, I won’t either. Who ’s going to get married 
again? Can’t you see that I’m only carrying out the 


THE DIFFICULTIES OF AN ORATOR. 


131 


first idea of origin, companionship, and posterity? 
Rising in the cradle means giving us birth. Now you 
hold up. Suppose I say next: "We revere her as 
mother, adore her as wife, and — and — ’ say what do 
we do for her as daughter?” 

” Well, you might say, we dress her, and educate her, 
and keep an eye on her, and — and — and” — 

" Spank her ! dod gast it ! Spank her ! Why don’t 
you say spank her? ” howled Mr. Spoopenclyke.- Can’t 
you think of something poetical ? I ’ve got that we 
revere our mothers and adore our wives, and I want 
something for the daughter. Can’t you originate some- 
thing ? ” 

" We provide a home for her. Would n’t — ? ” 

" Yes, of course ! ” raved Mr. Spoopendyke. " That ’s 
the idea! That fixes it I All you want now T is two 
' prolonged laughters,’ four ' continued applauses,’ one 
' enthusiasm,’ and 'a voice ’ to be an oration ! ' Fellow- 

citizens, we furnish her with poached eggs and beans I 
Fellow-citizens, we revere her as mother, we adore her 
as wife, and as daughter, we change the sheets once a 
week! Fellow-citizens, we pass her the gravy ! Fel- 
low-citizens!’” yelled Mr. Spoopendyke, gesticulating 
like a horse-chestnut tree, — fellow-citizens, if she 
wants her beef rare, we give it to her .! Fellow-citizens, 
we give her all the dod-gasted butter she can paste on 
her bread ! ’ Is that what you want me to say ? Expect 
I ’m going to stand around and make a measly ass of 
myself? 'Fellow-citizens, as mother we revere her ! 
Fe low-citizens, as wife we adore her! Fellow-citizens, 
to help a man get up a speech she’s the dod-slamdest 
donkey that ever raised a family I ’ wah-h-h-h,” shrieked 


132 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


Mr. Spoopenclyke, purple in the face, "got any more 
suggestions ! Know any more eloquence ? ” And the 
worthy gentleman leaned back in his chair speechless. 

" Could n’t you leave her out altogether ? ” recom- 
mended Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Can’t you just revere 
her as mother and adore her as wife? As for the 
daughter, you might pass it over with saying, ' Fellow- 
citizens, we are assem ’” — 

"Yes, or I can cut her throat!” proclaimed Mr. 
Spoopendyke. " I can take her to the pound ! I can 
salt her down for winter use ! Dod gast the speech ! ” 
And Mr. Spoopendyke danced on the fragments of his 
notes. " To-morrow night I ’ll answer that toast by 
telling what a dod-gasted old mule you ’d make of any 
man that would listen to you.” And Mr. Spoopendyke 
banged himself into the bed like a beer spigot and 
went to sleep. 

" Well,” thought Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she took 
down her hair, and put it up again, "I don’t see why he 
could n’t say, ' Fellow-citizens, we are assembled here 
to say something poetical about woman, and the best I 
can say is, we show her when we don’t always love her, 
and we love her when we don’t always show it.’ That’s 
sensible and it’s so,” sighed Mrs. Spoopendyke, falling 
over her husband’s boots ; and then the good woman 
opened the window on her spouse’s side of the bed, and 
sticking a few pins in the pillow in case she should 
want them in the night, she went prayerfully to sleep. 


THE YARN OF THE KISSING PARSON. 


133 


XXXVIII. 

THE YARN OF TIIE KISSING PARSON. 

’T was on a cheerless, icy day, 

The wind was wintry cold, 

That we chanced to meet on a bleak side street, 

A dominie man grown old. 

His clothes were patched, his head unthatched, 

And his trousers out at the knee, 

And we heard this man proceed to scan, 

This strange soliloquy : 

" Oh ! I bussed the widows, and I bussed the wives, 
And I bussed the damsels free, 

And I bussed young jades, and I bussed eld maids, 
Till the practice busted me.” 

And he pranced around and ripped and tGre, 

Like a maniac inspired, 

Till we seized by the neck this pious wreck, 

And timidly inquired : 

"Oh ! dominie man, will you explain, 

These wondrous things you tell ? 

Expound to us how you could buss 
So much and do it well ! ” 


134 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


Then he settled down and scratched his head 
In a meditative way, 

Till he thought he ’d quite got his story right 
And then went on to say : 

"I used to think when I started in, 

That a preacher had a call 

To buss around on hallowed ground, 

According to St. Paul. 

" So I bussed the widows, and I bussed the wives, 
And I bussed the damsels free. 

And I bussed young jades, and I bussed old maids, 
Till the practice busted me. 

" I went around from church to church 
For forty years, about, 

And never missed a single sister, 

Till the deacons fired me out. 

"Then I ’d try again and get a job, 

But again I ’d have to hop ; 

A scriptural buss would make more fuss 
Than a mule in a crockery shop. 

"In vain I preached the apostle’s creed, 

And showed how wise was he, 

But the holy salute always fetched a boot, 

And I got the grand G. B. 

" But it is the sisters’ singular view 
That my understanding melts ; 

They did n’t mind till the undersigned 
Got kissing some one else. 


A LITTLE LARGE W THE HECK. 


135 


" Then they ’d squawk and shiver, and raise a row, 
And howl and carry on, 

Though 1 ’d kissed them all, big, medium and small, 
From Genesis to John. 

" So I quit the business, and I preach no more, 

Nor neither sing nor pray ; 

But I am to be found a sitting round, 

Remarking by the way : 

"Oh ! I bussed the widows, and I bussed the wives, 
And I bussed the damsels free, 

And I bussed young jades, and I bussed old maids, 
Till the practice busted me ! ” 


XXXIX. 

A LITTLE LARGE IN THE NECK. 

"I wish, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, rolling 
over lazily in bed, — "I wish you would take the studs 
and cuff buttons out of the shirt I wore yesterday and 
put them in a clean one for me.” 

"Of course I will, you poor, dear, tired man,” said 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. "As if there were anything I 
would n’t do for you.” And she dove to the bottom of the 
bottom drawer and fished out a shirt that he had care- 
fully stowed away under all the rest because he did n’t 
have a collar to fit it. Then she adjusted the studs and 
sleeve buttons, and the fore-and-aft collar buttons, and 
laid it across the back of a chair. 


136 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" I sometimes wonder how I used to get along as a 
bachelor,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he pulled on the 
shirt. " Do you know, my dear, my daily life was made 
miserable by my shirts? But now — 99 And he kissed 
his wife affectionately, while she beamed with delight 
and bustled around to get everything in readiness so 
that he might have to ask for nothing. 

Mr. Spoopendyke washed and arranged himself until 
ho came to the collar part of the business, and then he 
hesitated. 

" Where ’d you find this shirt, anyway?” he asked, 
stretching his neck and glaring at himself in the glass. 
" IIow far ’d you have to go to wrench this garment 
from obscurity, eh? What have you done to the neck 
of this shirt, anyhow? I have n’t got a collar that ’ll go 
half-way round the dasted thing.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke fluttered up and examined the 
shirt in front, and then looked at the back, and finally 
thrust her hand between the band and the neck of her 
liege. 

"I see what it is,” she said, "you haven’t pulled it 
down far enough.” 

" Pulled it down ! Pulled it down ! Where do you 
think this collar goes on, Mrs. Spoopendyke, around the 
waist ? Maybe you think I wear a collar for a liver pad ! 
Where ’d you get it ? Where ’d you find it ? ” 

"I found it in the drawer with the rest of your shirts, 
my dear. There’s nothing the matter with it.” And she 
patted the band on both sides of the neck, and then 
gave it a gentle tug in front. "There,” she continued, 
smiling through her anxiety, "now it’s all right.” 

"Oh, yes !” returned Mr. Spoopendyke, with a fear- 


A LITTLE LABGE IN THE NECK. 


137 


fully sardonic laugh. "Of course, it’s all right. All 
you ’ve got to do is to grin at anything, and that makes 
it all right. Look at it, will you? Just look at it. 
Don’t you see the collar won’t meet by a foot and a 
half? Grin at it once more, Mrs. Spoopendyke ; just 
grin at it. It’ll come all right; just grin; grin, 
will ye?” 

"Perhaps it’s shrunk,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
stroking the band tenderly and looking at it with a 
statistical eye, as if calculating how much the shrinking 
might have affected it. 

"That’s what it is,” returned Mr. Spoopendyke, 
"now you’ve struck it. It’s shrunk. When it was 
new it nearly choked me, now it’s shrunk out like a 
barrel hoop. I ’m going to hire you out for a telescope, 
Mrs. Spoopendyke ; you can see further and see more 
than a minister’s wife at a sewing society. Oh ! it ’s 
shrunk, that’s all ; it’s shrunk ! Now, you pull on one 
side, and I will on the other, and we ’ll stretch it back 
smaller. Get hold and pull, will ye? It’s only 
shrunk ! ” 

"Let me put a stitch in it,” suggested Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke. 

" Put a stitch in it ! It don’t want anything more in 
it, I tell ye. It’s got too much in it. What d’ye 
think this thing is, anyhow? A bedquilt, eh? Well, 
it ’s a shirt, from the shoulders down, and it ’s a dozen 
and a half shirts from the shoulders up. Where ’d ye 
get it, anyway. Who told you this was the shirt I 
wanted ? Ever hear me say anything about this shirt ? 
Ever hear me allude to this shirt?” 

"Well, I thought ” — 


138 


MR. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


" Undoubtedly, Mrs. Spoopendyke, unquestionably. 
You thought ! That ’s the trouble with you. Too 
much mind, altogether. Next fall I ’m going to build 
a wing on you and start a college. You thought! 
P’r’aps your exalted reasoning suggested a dod-blasted 
shirt, with a collar band that would go round your 
ideas. What are you going to do about it? How Te 
you going to fix it? Going to stand there all day like 
a duck in the mud while I fatten up to fill the measly 
thing ? ” 

"Suppose you try another shirt?” suggested Mrs. 
Spoopendyke timidly. 

" That ’s it ! Now you Te thinking again ! As if I 
had n’t on shirt enough for six ! Get out some more 
shirts, Mrs. Spoopendyke. Get ’em all out. Man 
wants but little here below and wants it all in shirts. 
Pull ’em out — dod gast the thing ! ” 

R — i — i — i — p ! 

"There now,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he hauled 
the wreck off and kicked it under the bed. "Now, 
p’r’aps you ’re satisfied, Mrs. Spoopendyke. I ’ve 
busted the thing for good.” 

Mrs. Spoopendyke crawled under the bed, fished out 
the torn garment, rescued the studs and sleeve buttons, 
and introduced them to another shirt, with which Mr. 
Spoopendyke arrayed himself in silence. 

"Another time, Mrs. Spoopendyke,” said he, at 
length, " I ’ll thank you to let my shirts alone. I never 
had any such trouble when I w r as a bachelor, and here- 
after you won’t interfere with my things unless I give 
specific instructions. You understand me ? ” 

" Yes, dear,” smiled Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she fol- 
lowed her lord to breakfast. 


IIE WAS FROM DEAD WOOD. 


139 


XL. 

HE WAS FROM DEAD WOOD. 

A Brooklyn boy, who had spent some six months in 
the Black Hills, struck home last week and sauntered 
up Fulton street. Be was dressed in an antelope-skin 
shirt, a pair of black-tail deer-skin pantaloons, beaded 
moccasins, and a white felt hat with a brim like a wagon 
wheel. He wandered into a saloon, thumped his fist 
on the counter, and howled for tan juice with a glitter- 
ing eye. 

"Will yer jine me, strangers?” he said to three or 
four gentlemen sitting at a table, adding as they hesi- 
tated, "I recken ye’d better. With me a invite means 
liquor or blood. Ye’d better come up.’ y 

They approached the bar, and all took beer, except 
one, who took cider, explaining that he had never 
touched spirits in his life. 

"Wall, I’ll be dogged!” roared the skin-decked 
traveller. " Ef yer was with me whar I hang out ye ’d 
be inter a hole. ’Cause thar ’s whar yer got ter drink, 
whether yer drink er not. ’S luck ! ” And he poured 
in the poison. 

"Where are you from, if I may ask?” inquired the 
cider man. 

"From ! right from the gulch. The clean-up put me 
a few thousand ahead and I’m wanderin’ to see the 
sights. You bet ! ” 


140 


MB. AND MRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


"From the mines?” 

" Straight from jist whar yer reckoned I was, stranger. 
I been inter the Hills. Panned big, and now I ’m in fer 
a reg’lar old He. You bet ! ” 

" How are things in the Hills now ? Is business de- 
pressed, or are things flourishing?” 

"I don’t know nothin’ about them big words, but ef 
yer want fer ter know how things is, they ’re thar ; right 
thar. I seen twenty millions o’ money taken out o’ my 
mine in fourteen hours. That’s trade! That’s hittin’ 
gilt every wash, and don’t yer forgit it ; you bet ! ” 

" How does Custer City seem to progress ? ” 

" I ain’t no bizness with no Custer City, — I’m a 
miner, I am.” 

" I saw in a recent paper that a number of troops 
have been moved to Fort Meade. Do they think there 
is any danger from Indians ? ” 

"Injuns! Injuns, pard ! Why there’s mor’n seven 
millions of ’em setten around on the rocks waitin’ for a 
chance to lite in. Injuns ! Why you don’t know 
nothin’ about Injuns here. I seen ten hundred thousand 
troops killed in an hour and a half. But I don’t mind 
no Injuns ! I tunnelled under four tribes camped half 
a mile from my claim, and every dogged one of them 
went up in the blast. You bet ! There can’t be no 
Injuns git away with a Hiller, and don’t yer forgit it ! ” 
" Deadwood must be rather a dangerous locality. I 
had no idea it was so exposed.” 

"Deadwood ! Dangerous ! Say, stranger, if yer ever 
learned to gamble, jist put yer money on the statement 
that Deadwood is dangerously placed . Y cr ’ll wi n , pard. 
Ter ’ll scoop the pot each tussle, er count mv judgment 
deuce box.” 


OPENING SARDINES. 


141 


" Going to be in Brooklyn any length of time ? ” 

" Jist come to take a squint at it. Say, show me 
round. Show me to a faro-bank. I’ve got too much 
dust fer comfort, and I’d like to drop or pick up. Show 
me around, stranger, and I ’ll make yer proud of yer- 
self.” 

"I don’t think you would find me a very good guide, 
for I’ve only been here a comparatively short time, but 
perhaps one of my friends who reside here would ” — 

"Don’t belong here? Whar yer from, stranger? 
Whar’s yer tepee?” 

"1 live in Deadwood,” responded the stranger. "I’m 
only ” — 

If the young traveller will come around and pay for 
those drinks, all will be forgiven. 


XLI. 

OPENING SARDINES. 

"Look here, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, toss- 
ing out the ribbons and laces in his wife’s bureau 
drawer, " what ’s become of that can-opener? I don’t 
see it anywhere.” 

"What do you want of it?” asked Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, fluttering up to protect her trinkets, and trying 
to gain a little time. 

"I want to open some sardines with it,” retorted Mr. 
Spoopendyke, abandoning the drawer and hunting 
through the work-basket. " Think I want to comb my 

O 


142 


MB. AND MBS. SPOOPENDYKE. 


hair with it? Imagine I want to write a letter with it? 
Well, I don’t. I want some sardines. What have you 
done with it ? ” 

f ' You might take your big knife,” reeommended 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. " The large blade is just the thing 
for that.” 

Mr. Spoopendyke seized the knife and bored away 
at one corner of the box, while his wife looked on with 
considerable distress. 

"Hadn’t you better put a paper under the box? 
You’ll get the oil all over the tablecloth,” suggested 
Mrs. Spoopendyke. 

"No, I won’t either,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, as 
the knife plunged through and the od spattered. 
"Serve you right if I did,” he continued, ploughing 
away at the tin, while the grease flew in all directions, 
" It would teach you to put the can-opener where you 
could find it. What kind of housekeeping do you call 
this, anyhow?” he yelled, as the blade slipped out and 
closed up on his fingers. 

" Did you hurt oourself, dear?” asked Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, anxiously, 

"No, I did n’t hurt myself,” grinned Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. "The dod-gasted knife struck the bone, or I 
would have been dead with agony an hour ago. Give 
me some ether,” he howled. " Fetch me some chloro- 
form. S’pose I ’m going to saw at this box any longer 
without an ana3sthetic? Got an idea I ’m going to chip 
off a couple dozen fingers without something to deaden 
the pain ? Where ’s the laughing gas ? Give me some 
laughing gas, whilst I extract these measly old fish.” 
And Mr. Spoopendyke pranced around the room, and 


OPENING SARDINES . 


143 


then jabbed the knife into the box again and ripped 
away as though he was run by steam. " No use lo hide 
away from me,” he yelled, hacking at the box with all 
his might. " I know you ’re in there, and there can’t 
any dod-gasted sardine that ever was built get away 
from me. Come out, I tell ye !” and he seized a fish by 
the tail and slung him across the room. "You ’re trans- 
acting business with Spoopendyke now.” And he clawed 
out a handful of mashed sardines and slapped them 
down on a plate. 

" Won’t you spoil ’em, dear?” asked Mrs. Spoopen- 
dyke, dodging the flying heads and tails. " They won’t 
be very good if you open ’em that way.” 

"Oh, won’t they?” howled Mr. Spoopendyke. "If 
you don’t like ’em that way, what ’d you ask for them 
for? Maybe you want me to take ’em out in a baby 
carriage. P’r’aps you’ve got an idea I ought to climb 
under ’em and lift ’em out. Maybe you want me to get 
into that box with a boat and take ’em out with a seine. 
Well, I won’t, I tell you. Give me the tongs. I want 
that fish at the bottom. Where’s the tongs? Gone to 
get married to the can-opener, have n’t they ? ” And Mr. 
Spoopendyke grabbed another fish and fired him into the 
grate. 

" Be patient, my dear,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
soothingly. " Make the opening a little wider, and 
they 'll come out.” 

"Hain’t I patient?” shouted Mr. Spoopendyke. 
" P’r’aps you want me to sing to ’em, ' I wish I was an 
angel, and with the — ’ Dod gast the fish ! Come out of 
that.” And with a wrench Mr. Spoopendyke hauled olf 
the top and disclosed the mangled remains of his 


144 MR. AND 3IRS. SPOOPENDYKE. 

enemies. "Now give me a lemon.” And he eyed the 
repast with anything but contentment. " Stir around and 
get me a lemon ; quick now.” 

"Upon my word, my dear, I don’t believe there’s a 
lemon in the house,” stammered Mrs. Spoopendyke. 
" I had one ” — 

" Oh, you had one ! ” proclaimed Mr. Spoopendyke, 
"only you’re just out. If you’d been brought up 
right, you’d only need an awning and a family on the 
top floor to be a grocery shop. S’pose I ’m going to eat 
the sardines raw ? Think I ’m going to swallow these 
fish alive? Gimme something to put on ’em, will ye?” 

"What would you like, my dear?” queried Mrs. 
Spoopendyke. 

"Ink, dod gast it ! Fetch me some measly ink ! Got 
any nails ? Can’t you find some laudanum somewhere ? ” 
And Mr. Spoopendyke projected himself into the closet 
and pranced out with a bottle of arnica. "There ! ” he 
howled, as he dashed the contents over the sardines, 
"there ’s your fish all ready for you, and the next time 
you want me to open the things, you have a lemon, will 
ye ? Find a can-opener, won’t ye ? ” And Mr. Spoop- 
endyke flopped into his easy chair and picked up the 
paper. 

" Don’t you want some of the fish ! ” asked Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, after a long pause. 

"No, I don’t,” growled Mr. Spoopendyke. 

" But this is a fresh box,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
displaying the sardines in neat layers. 

" How ’d you get it open ? ” demanded Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. 

" With the can-opener,” replied his wife. " I found 
it in your tool box where you put it to sharpen it.” 


OPENING SARDINES. 


145 


" Maybe I put the lemon in there to sharpen that too,” 
grunted Mr. Spoopendyke, pegging away at the box and 
looking up with his mouth full, but recognizing the taste 
of vinegar, he made some remark about some people 
only needing a handle and a cork to be a fortunatus jug, 
and having finished the lot, he demanded why hjs wife 
hadn’t asked for ’em if she wanted some, and went to 
bed with some incoherent observation on the absurdity 
of folks sitting around like martyrs with fish within 
reach. 































































































American Historical Novels. 

Large X2mos, cloth extra. 

FRENCH EXILES IN LOUISIANA. By J. T. Lindsay. 
Illustrated. 240 pp. $1.00 

LOG CABIN DAYS OF ILLINOIS. By same Author. 

In Press. 

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, OR, LEGENDS OF THE 
WEST. By same Author. In Preparation. 

THE BUCCANEERS. Vol. I. By Capt. Randolph 

Jones. 551 pp. $1.50 

THE BUCCANEERS. Yol. II. By same Author. 

In Preparation . 

American Sunday Library. 

Religious and Non-Sectarian Stories and Biogra- 
phies. For Families and Sunday Schools. Large 
12mos in Leatherette and Cloth extra. 

A SUNNY LIFE. By Robert Broomfield, Author of 
4 4 Little People,” 44 The Flower by the Prison,” etc. 
A Biographical Narrative. $1.00 

THE MINISTER’S DAUGHTER. By William McMi- 
chael. A Story. $1.00 

Other Volumes will follow at short intervals. 

W. B. SMITH & CO., Publishers, 

27 Bond Street, New Yore. 

For Sale by all Booksellers, or mailed by the Publishers on 
receipt of price. 


W. B. S. & Co. publish m LAftGLST LIST of Popular American 
Novels of A>w House in the World. 7* page Catalogue free. 











































































































































































































-V* 




t 












* 










-♦ 


- « 










New Books and New Editions 

Just published by 

W. B. SMITH & CO.; 

[Established 1865.] 




RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. 


Ages to Come ; or the Future States. By E. Adkins, D.D. .$1.50. 

Analytical Processes; or, the Primary Principle of Philosophy. 
By Rev. Wm. I. Gill, A.M $2.00. 

Anthroposophy. By Rev. C. C. Adams, S.T.D 40cts. 

Beauty of the King. A brief Life of Christ. By Rev. A. H. Hol- 
loway, A. M., $1.00; full gilt $1.25. 

Christian Conception and Experience By Rev. Wm. I. Gill, 
A. M $1.00. 

Ecclesiology : Fundamental Idea and Constitution of the New 
Testament Church. By E. J. Fish, D. D $2.00. 

Evolution and Progress. An Exposition and Defence. By Rev. 
Wm. I. Gill, A.M $1.50. 

Life Among the Clergy. By Rev. Robt. Fisher $1.25. 

Life for a Look. By Rev. A. H. Hoi.loway 15cts. 

Resurrection of the Body. Does the Bible Teach It ? By E. 
Nisbet, D. D. Introduction by G. W. Samson, D. D $1.00. 

Spiritual Communications, from the Eternal World. By Henry 
Kiddle, A.M $1.50. 


Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free. 


CLOTH NOVELS. 


After Many Years. By Robert Boggs $1.50- 

A Windfall. By A. T. Perky $1.00. 

Berrisford. By Mrs. Judge Sanford $1.50. 

Buccaneers, The. Historical Novel. By Randolph Jones. 
Paper, $1 ; cloth $1.50. 

Deacon Cranky, the Old Sinner. By Geo. Guirey $1.50. 

Glendover. By Deane Roscoe $1.25. 

Her Waiting Heart. By Louise Capsadell $1.00 

Hammock Stories. Three volumes in one , $1.25 

In Dead Earnest. By Julia Breckinridge $1.25 

Irene. By Mrs. B. F. Baer $1.0C. 

Our Wedding Gifts. By Amanda M. Douglas $1.00. 

Rev. Adonijah and His Wife’s Relations. By Mrs. Judge 
Steele $1.00. 

Saddest of All is Loving. By Mrs. Lou. Montgomery 
Sale $1.00. 

Shadowed Perils. By Miss M. A. Avery $1.00. 

Summer Boarders. By Mrs. Adele M. Garrigues $1.00. 

Thump’s Client. By Chas. D. Knight $1.50. 

’Twist Wave and Sky. By F. E. Wadleigh $1.25. 


%* Books mailed, post-paid, to any part of the United States 
and Canada, upon receipt of price. 


EDUCATION, HISTORY, SCIENCE. 


Camping in Colorado. With Suggestions to Gold-Seekers, Tour- 
ists and Invalids. By S. E. Gordon $1.00. 

Chronic Consumption, Prevention and Cure of. By David Wakk, 

M. D 80cts. 

Complete Scientific Grammar of the English Language. By 

Prof. W. Colegrove, LL.D $1.25. 

Fast and Loose in Dixie. By Gen’l J. Madison Drake $1.50. 

Linda ; or Ueber das Meer. Travels in Germany. Eor Young 

Folks. By Mrs. H. L. Crawford $1.25. 

Roman Catholicism in the United States $1.25. 

Spelling Reform Question Discussed. By E. H. Watson. . .25cts. 
Universe of Language. By E. H. Watson $1.50. 


POEMS. 

Columbia. A National Poem. By W. P. Chilton $1.00. 

Cothurnus and Lyre. By E. J. Harding $1.00. 

Mystic Key. A Poetic Fortune Teller and Social Amusement 

Book. Edited by Miss E. E. Biggs 75cts. 

St. Paul. By S. Miller Hageman ^ .75cts. 

Sumners’ Poems. By S. B. and C. A. Sumner. 8vo, $4 : 12mo $2.50. 
Wild Flowers. By C. W. Hubner $1.00. 


It is a pleasure to read books so well made. Indeed, the books 
of these publishers become more attractive in appearance with 
every succeeding publication. — N. Y. Mail. 

The binding and get-up are very attractive, and the clear type 
and cream tinted paper are a relief to the weakest e yes —Depart- 
ment Review, Washington, D. C. 


POLITICAL AND PRACTICAL. 


Individual Rights. By Martin Ryerson 25cts 

Is Our Republic a Failure ? A Discussion of the Rights and 
the Wrongs of the North and the South. By E. H. Wat- 
son $1.50. 

Manuscript Manual. How to Prepare Manuscripts for the 

Press lOcts. 

Mercantile Prices and Profits. By M. R. Pilon. (In Press.) 

Race for Wealth. By James Corley 50cts. 

Scrap Books, and How to Make Them. By E. W. Gurley. 40cts. 

Spelling Reform Discussed. By E. H. Watson 25cts. 

What is Demonetization of Gold and Silver? By M. R. 

Pilon 75cts. 

Women’s Secrets, or How to be Beautiful. A Toilet Manual. 
By Louise Capsadell. Cl. 75cts ; paper 25cts. 


MECHANICAL EXECUTION 

OF BOOKS ISSUED BY W. B. SMITH & CO., NEW YORK. 

Excellent paper and clear type. — Hebrew Leader. 

Admirably printed. — Reformer and Jewish Times. 

Well printed, handsomely bound. — Boston Herald. 

Handsomely issued volumes. Boston Sat. E.cpress. 

A superior style of publication. — Sunny South, Atlanta. 

Neatly bound ; the print is clear and distinct. — Church Union, 
N. Y. 

Handsomely bound, typographical work clear. — Minneapolis 
Journal. 

Beautifully gotten up, and worth more than the price. — F. E. 
Wadleigh, Washington, D. C. 

The works issued by this company are beautifully printed and 
in active demand. — Elizabeth, N. J., Daily Monitor. 

Printed and bound in the neat and attractive manner that char- 
acterizes everything that emanates from their establishment. — 
Peoria Call. 


AUTHOR’S MANUSCRIPT PAPER. 

Manufactured exclusively by W. B. Smith & Co., white 
paper, flat sheets, ruled only on one side, and sold only in ream 
packages. Each package warranted to contain full count of 480 
sheets. 

Two Grades, differing oitly in thickness and weight : 


Manuscript Paper, No. 1 * $1.25. 

Manuscript Paper, No. 2 $1.00 


By mail 50 cents per ream extra. Specimens mailed on receipt 
of three-cent stamp. 

Special discount to editorial offices. 


Practical Commendation : 

We find it just what teachers and pupils need. — National Journal 
of Education. 

It is of excellent quality, and convenient to both writer and 
printer. — Providence Town and Country. 

A first rate article. Meets the wants of a large class of writers 
better than anything else which has come to our notice. — American 
Bookseller. 

It is made from superior stock, is of convenient width and grade, 
and is approved by writers and preferred by printers. — Western 
Stationer and Printer, Chicago. 

The distinguishing feature of the Manuscript Paper is its con- 
venient shape. The texture is neither too thick nor too thin, 
making it in every way a desirable paper for writers and contrib- 
utors. — Acta Columbiana , N. Y. 


The Enchanted Library 

FOR YOUNG FOLKS. 

VOLUMES JUST READI, 


No 4. A Visit to El-Fay -Gno-Land. 

By Mrs. M. M. Sanford. Illustrated. .75c. 

A story of a trip to the home of Santa Claus and Kreche 
Kindly in the land of Elves, Fairies, Gnomes, etc. 

No. 3. Kin-Folk. 

By Janet Miller. Illustrated 75c. 

A little girl’s story of what the Birds, Bees, Butterflies, 
Flowers, Chickens, Kitty, the Calf, Old Watch and Dolly 
said to her in her play and rambles. 

No. 2. Harry Ascott Abroad. 

By Matthew White, Jr 60c. 

An American boy’s travels abroad with descriptions of 
the beautiful places and novel sights that pleased him. 

No. 1. The Queer Tittle Wooden Captain. 

By Sydney Dayre. Illustrated 90c. 

Two Stories.— I. How the Little Wooden Captain came 
down from his time -honored place on top of a clock and 
had a merry Chi’istmas frolic with the Tongs, Poker, 
Broom, etc. II. The W anderings of a Little Lost Girl. ’ 


LINDA ; or UBEE DAS MEEE. 

By Mrs. H. L. Crawford. Sq. 12mo,, red edges $1 25 

Is larger than the “Enchanted Library” volumes, but is 
similar in character, being an account of a little girl’s travels 
abroad, and the wonderful sights she saw. 





























































































































































































♦ 




































































































. 



























































































































I 












































































































































I 


























































































































% 






/ 































































































































' 

v 


















. 

. 

■ 




























■ 

* 





































• 













































































- 

. 


. 

, 

1 ‘ * 






































































































































































































Few novel series have attained such unbounded popularity as the Satchel Series. They are found at e 
news-stand, in every bookstore , and in every railway train ; and are universally commended. — Mi 
and American , Manchester, N. H. 

Each Volume Complete.— No Double Numbers. 


THE SATCHEL SERIES. 

COMPRISING 

Story, Romance, Travel, Adventure, Humor, Pleasure. 

— BY— 

POPULAR AMERICAN AUTHORS. 


35. Mr. <fc Mrs. Spoopendyke. By Stanley 


Huntley . 25c. 

34. Rosebush. By Wm. Bradford. • — 20c. 

33. Mountain Rambles. Rev. J: W. Kingsbury. 25c. 
32. Jerusha’s Jim. (Humorous and Bathetic). 20c. 

31. Ethel’s Perplexity. F. W. Leggett 20c. 

30. Bewildering Widow. Julia E. Dunn 40c. 

29. A Virginia Belle. Sem Ralph 25c. 

28. How Bob and I Kept House. Bessie Albert. 15c. 
2 r. What’s the Matter? Mrs. C. B. Whitehead. 20c. 

2G. Yesterdays in Paris. Wm. Bradford 25c. 

25. Maple Hall Mystery. Enrique Parmer 25c. 

24. Mrs. Singleton. By a N. Y. Society Lady .40c. 
23. Old Nick’s Cainp-Meetin’. Eugene Owl. . .50c. 

22. One Little Indian. Roy Maitland 25c. 

21. Vic. A. Benrimo 30c. 

20. Persis. By Rambler 25c. 

19. Ninety-Nine Days. Clara R. Bush ...35c. 


18. Spiders and Rice Pudding. S. G. Barbour.25c. 


17. How it Ended. Marie Flaacke 

16. Bera, or C. & M. C. R. R. Stuart De Leon . .. 

15. Glenmere. (Love vs. Wealth) 

14. Poor Theophilus. A Contributor to Puck. 
13. Only a Tramp. Author of “ Alone,” etc.., 

12. Who Did It ? Mark Frazier 

11. Our Peggotties. Kesiah Shelton 

lo. Our Winter Eden. Mrs. Genl. Casneau... 1 
9. Nobody’s Business. Author “Dead Men’s 

Shoes ” 

8. Story of the Strike. Elizabeth Murray ! 

7. Lily’s Lover. Author “Climbing the Moun 

tains” i 

6. Voice of a Shell. O. C. Auringer 

5. Rosamond Howard. Kate R. Lovelace 

4. Appeal to Moody. [Satire] 

3. Bonny Eagle. (Vacation Sketch) 

2. Prisons Without Walls. Kelsic Etheridge 
1. Traveller’s Grab Bag. Old Traveler 


Bright and sprightly. — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

Handy little volumes. — Philadelphia Record. 

Really of a lively and spicy character. — AmericanMonthly Magazine. 

They deserve well of the reading public. — Illustrated Christian Weekly. 

Gotton up in a fresh style and printed in plain type. — Pittsburgh Leader. 

Cheap, convenient, and by popular authors.— Epis. Methodist, Baltimore. 

Bright and breezy, and above all, pure in sentiment. — Boston Transcript. 

Readable and amusing; will help to enliven a journey. — American Bookseller. 

Especially desirable as companions on a journey of any kind. — Sunny South, Atlanta. 

Bright, elegant and charming— nothing trashy about them. — Journal, Summerville, Mass. ! 

Breezy, bright little books, always unexceptionaly pure in sentiment.— Cincinnati Commercial. 
Just the books to read in cars, at seashore, or during leasure hours at home. — Chron. Farmington, 
Remarkably clever little books; just the thing for.the country, watering-places, hotel verandas 
under the shade of sighing trees.— A. Y. Express. 

The convenient form of the books and their brevity, fit them especially for reading upon rail 
trains or in idle half-hours anywhere.— A T . Y. Eve. Post. 

The brightest and best brief works by American authors who are well known to the reading pu 
They have proved very popular, particularly as traveling companions.— Boston Home Journal. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents in the United States. Sent 
mail post paid, on receipt of price, by 

■ 6 0 5 .w, b. smith & co„ publishers, 

27 Bond St.. New York. 














> \ 
* <&■ 






* 




. * ,(V 


o <y 


4 -/, >- S'/ 

r ^ * - 


\ 


0 o. 

\. ^v • y* 


o o' 


54 » ^ U ' &>, 

,- v ^ •**. \ _ 

% *«"* 

>* :^A\ % ■/ 

\V «A„ 




\ ^ * 


Or %<. * ^y'/JK'JF v. 

^ ^ -S fP 

I I 1 4 v^ 0 . » „ , 

tt ' * o / > . CV , s s _ 

*k <\ **> 


✓* 1^' • , 
cv ^ 

* o 


« 


r 


c, ^ 

. V *£> 

i> ■<? » 


«o ^ 

' .< », <$. 


w* 

,\^ V ’^- -, ...y- - 

<* . X/ v c s /\ ^ y o * k * \0 

A* . •'"« V . 0 ^ , c 
i. A r **?M>*\ J ^ * 

<v v © 

■< O rv > 


V? 


.0 O. 


^ .o° c '°,' , ?! i T’\/ 

V s * * ' , % \> » 1 « « , X> 

•e- «**’ ’'^S^VV a* " 4# ;- 
<£ • M i x : ^ ^ - x: *•,,. % l 

S ^ 

r.V ^ 






o 


,J o 0 s ' ? ^ 


oV ^ r 
,v ^ d 


V " N V* ^ , 

X % A. V .A ^/k,X ^ ^ 

■%* ^ - Sm ?* « ;/l 


\ 0c u 


I * '' - 's a S * . ^ .s A.' ~> ^ 

■%• =, j- Js gl. - <c„,* Y ; All » %$* 


\ 0c . 


* . C> <£* 

* V? Vtf- * 

■4 • /> A-5JH 7 .^ v 

* <G ^ '/, s S -\ 

0^ c» N * », **’ ^ 

✓ 




0 • 
w 



</\ 

V 

cjs 


o 

• 1 

* » ^b 


^ i <S> 


0 * ) 


, ~ a 1 

^ *u»' 


<* v* 
«* v 


« . \ » o <y 

" .0* -'* " '* *r. 



0 N 0 




0 V '- ^ ' 4 ^ * v ' 11 /( V q 

iSr ^ jA &A r /2tt * 


\ z 

A^' ^ © 

, .s' A +» \ 

r ^ c 

* <*. 

* ^ o N r 

“ ^ "A rVJJS#,, * 

* > y a "A A A 

\> +.1*0, '> & 

~iP *\K> <v r/N / ^ 

\V </*- - VZ/AV^A'^ji - <b <<. 

* ^ * 'Vf- 



.0 o 



** ^ 

V? <<' * 





/ t -«-;V“’ 

v 



